Bert  rand  3r 

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l<°  -  •*. 

'•«  60  -188 
L«ng 


AT    LOVE'S    EXTREMES. 


AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES 


BY 
MAURICE  THOMPSON 

Author  of  "  A  Tallahassee  Girl,"  "His  Second  Campaign," 
"  Songs  of  Fair  Weather,"  etc.,  etc. 


"  I  envy  not  the  beast  that  takes 
His  license  in  t'he  field  of  time, 
Unfettered  by  the  sense  of  crime. 
To  whom  a  conscience  never  wakes." 

— TENNYSON. 


NEW  YORK : 

CASSELL  &  COMPANY  LIMITED 
1885 


COPYRIGHT 


By  O.  M.  DUNHAM. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  i.     MOUNTAIN  DEW.          .            .  i 

CHAPTER  n.     MILLY.             .            .            .  .     15 

CHAPTER  in.     MR.  HAWKINS  NOBLE.            .    •  •    .25 

CHAPTER  iv.     WHITE  PLAYS  "  SEVING  UP"  .  .     38 

CHAPTER  v.     SOME  LIGHT  TALK.      .            .  .48 

CHAPTER  vi.     AT  THE  GATE.           .            .  .64 

CHAPTER  vn.     AN  OLD  PLANTATION  HOUSE.  .     77 

CHAPTER  vin.     WITH  DOG  AND  GUN.          .  .     93 

CHAPTER  ix.     LUNCHEON  AL  FRESCO.         .  .no 

CHAPTER  x.     MILLY  INQUIRES.         .            .  -123 
CHAPTER  XL     DALLYING.      ....  134 

CHAPTER  xn.     A  BIT  OF  LOVE  MAKING.      .  .  149 

CHAPTER  xm.     AT  THE  RUIN.         .            .  .  164 

CHAPTER  xiv.     A  WHISPER  IN  THE  CABIN.  .  180 

CHAPTER  xv.     A  DISCLOSURE.          .            .  .   189 

CHAPTER  xvi.     CONVALESCENT.  .  202 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  xvn.     DREAMS  AND  PLANS.          .  .217 

CHAPTER  xvm.     REALITIES.  .  .  .  229 

CHAPTER  xix.     WHITHER.     ....  250 
CHAPTER  xx.     AFTER  ALL.  .  .  260 


AT    LOVE'S    EXTREMES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MOUNTAIN     DEW. 

A  MAN  stood  on  the  jutting  shoulder  of  a  mountain 
overlooking  a  long,  narrow  valley,  whose  scatter- 
ing houses  and  irregular  farm-plats,  seen  through  the 
clear  air  of  that  high  region,  appeared  scarcely  a  gun- 
shot distant,  when  in  fact  they  were  miles  away.  It 
was  early  morning;  the  sun  had  barely  cleared  the 
highest  peaks  in  the  east,  and  the  landscape,  albeit  a 
mid-winter  one,  was  wonderfully  rich  in  colors.  On 
the  oak  trees  the  leaves  still  clung  in  heavy  brown, 
green  and  russet  masses ;  the  hickory  forests,  though 
leafless,  made  bits  of  tender  gray  along  the  lower 
valley-slopes,  whilst  high  up  toward  the  mountain 
tops,  the  billowy  wilderness  of  pines,  cedars  and  chest- 
nut trees  added  their  variegated  patch-work  that  grad- 
ually rose  and  shaded  off  into  the  blue  of  distance.  In 
some  places  where  storms,  or  the  needs  of  man, 
had  removed  the  oak  woods,  a  dense,  frondous  mass  of 


2  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

young  pines  had  leaped  up  with  a  greenness  full  of  a 
soft  yellow  glow.  The  sunshine  and  the  wind  of  the 
South  were  flowing  over  this  scene,  and  there  were  fra- 
grant odors  and  balsamic  pungency  in  every  wave. 

The  man,  a  tall,  shapely  fellow,  was  a  young  English- 
man who  had  lately  come  to  the  iron  and  coal  region 
of  Alabama  to  take  charge  of  extensive  manufacturing 
and  mining  interests  belonging  to  his  family.  Just  at 
present,  with  a  true  English  faith  in  the  value  of  out- 
door sports,  he  was  hunting  wild  turkeys,  or,  for  that 
matter,  whatever  other  wild  game  might  chance  to  let 
him  get  within  gun-shot  of  it.  He  had  left  his  hotel 
at  Birmingham  with  the  first  hint  of  dawn,  and  had 
steadily  tramped  over  hills  and  mountain  spurs  and 
through  wild  ravines  and  beautiful  glades,  without 
a  sight  of  fur  or  feather.  Now  he  stood  on  this  airy 
height,  flushed  with  his  healthful  exercise,  a  little 
disappointed  and  annoyed.  But  the  mountain  air  of 
the  South  has  in  it  a  tenderly  exhilarating  influence 
which  affects  the  imagination  and  lulls  one  into  pleas- 
ant, though  often  rather  vague  dreams.  No  matter  if 
Edward  Moreton  was  an  intensely  practical-minded  man 
of  affairs,  the  kind  of  Englishman  who  is  willing  to 
come  to  America  and  superintend  iron  works  and  coal 
mines,  he  was,  nevertheless,  not  wholly  impervious  to 
the  poetry — the  lulling  magnetism  of  the  climate  and 
the  scene.  For  a  while  he  leaned  on  his  gun,  a  long, 
heavy  double-barreled  piece  ;  then  he  took  from  his 


MO  UN  TA  IN  DEW.  3 

pocket  a  cigarette  and  match,  seated  himself  on  an  old 
gray  stone  and  began  smoking.  In  the  midst  of  the 
valley  below,  ran  a  rivulet,  winding  through  the  woods 
with  a  silvery  shimmer,  and  out  across  the  farms  and 
past  one  little  mill,  on  into  a  deep  gorge  of  the  stony 
hills. 

Moreton  had  not  found  his  surroundings  in  Birming- 
ham quite  satisfactory,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he 
had  fallen  in  love,  after  the  old  time  fervid  fashion, 
with  a  fair  young  Northern  girl  living  there.  The  little 
mining  town,  cramped  between  the  hills,  full  of  rough 
folk,  raw  and  new,  could  not  be  very  attractive  to  a 
man  who,  no  matter  how  practical  and  matter  of  fact 
in  his  disposition,  had  studied  art  and  who  still  nursed 
the  artist's  dreams.  As  he  sat  there  with  his  blue-gray 
eyes  slowly  sweeping  the  valley,  he  was  not  as  blithe- 
looking  as  a  model  sportsman  should  be.  His  dog,  a 
small  brown  spaniel,  sat  down  at  his  feet  and  eyed  him 
lazily.  No  sound,  save  the  rustle  of  the  wind  in  the 
trees  and  a  dull  distant  tapping  of  a  woodpecker,  was 
disturbing  the  broad  silence  of  the  forest.  The  sky 
was  intensely  blue.  Suddenly  a  short  puff  of  damp- 
ness came  from  the  southwest,  followed  by  a  growl 
of  thunder,  a  thing  not  usual  in  winter,  even  in  that 
latitude.  Moreton  arose  and  saw  a  heavy  line  of  black 
cloud  overhanging  some  conical  peaks  far  away  on  the 
southwestern  horizon. 

"  Come  Nat,"  he  said  to  his  dog,  "  we  must  be  going 


4  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

back ;  a  nasty  squall  is  coming.  We  shall  get  our 
jackets  wet." 

Nat  answered  with  divers  canine  antics  and  the  two 
turned  away  from  the  valley,  the  man  walking  with 
long  firm  strides  and  the  dog  trotting  perfunctorily  at 
his  side.  Their  way  led  among  the  flanking  spurs  and 
foot-hills  of  the  range,  now  over  great  fragmentary 
bowlders,  now  through  yawning  clefts  and  down  wind- 
ing defiles,  sometimes  on  bare  ridges  of  shale,  anon 
under  the  dark  odorous  brushes  of  the  pines.  The 
cloud  came  after  them,  sending  in  advance  its  gusts  of 
moist,  fragrant  air.  A  vast  wing  reached  up  to  the 
zenith  and  a  few  big  drops  of  rain  pattered  down.  A 
morning  shower  in  the  mountains  comes  at  race-horse 
speed.  The  swiftest  birds  are  caught  by  it.  A  flock 
of  noisy  crows  went  flapping  across  the  valley,  striving 
in  vain  to  outstrip  the  slanting  flood  that  fell  with  a 
broad,  washing  roar  from  that  rushing  cloud. 

"  We  are  in  for  a  soaking,  Nat,"  grumbled  Moreton, 
as  he  plucked  up  the  collar  of  his  shooting  jacket ;  "  a 
deuced  bad  outcome  for  our  first  day's  shooting  in 
America !  " 

Nat's  tail  was  down  and  so  were  his  ears.  He  rel- 
ished the  signs  of  the  weather  no  more  than  did  his 
stalwart  master.  A  chilliness  was  creeping  into  the 
air,  foretelling  how  disagreeable  the  rain  was  sure  to 
be.  The  very  trees  shivered  as  the  sunshine  was  shut 
off  by  the  overlapping  cloud. 


MO  UN  TAIN  DE  W.  $ 

It  was  just  as  the  storm  was  about  to  break  that  cer- 
tain sharp  cries  peculiar  to  the  wild  turkey  reached  the 
quick  ears  of  sportsman  and  dog.  The  man  stopped 
short  and  cocked  his  gun,  as  the  spaniel  darted  away 
to  a  short  distance  and  then  began  creeping  through 
the  low  underbrush,  as  a  setter  does  when  about  to 
come  to  a  point.  In  the  next  instant  four  large  birds 
were  flushed,  breaking  from  cover  at  about  forty 
yards,  their  wings  making  the  woods  resound  with 
their  loud  flapping.  Almost  at  the  same  moment,  the 
"  bang — pang !  "  of  Moreton's  gun,  fired  right  and  left, 
went  echoing  across  the  valley  and  battling  amongst 
the  hills.  A  cock  and  hen  were  stopped  short  and 
fell  heavily.  The  dog  sprang  forward  to  lead  his 
master  to  the  game,  and  then  came  a  blinding  down- 
gush  of  rain  with  a  roar  like  that  of  a  cyclone. 

Moreton  with  great  difficulty  got  the  birds,  and, 
after  tying  them  together  by  the  feet,  slung  them 
across  his  shoulder.  This  additional  load  and  the 
hindering  force  of  the  rain  made  his  further  progress 
quite  laborious.  Nat  resumed  his  drooping,  mechani- 
cal jog-trot  at  his  master's  side.  The  young  man 
leaned  over  and  almost  shut  his  eyes  as  he  pressed  on, 
catching  quick  breaths  as  the  cold  streams  trickled 
down  his  back.  His  shooting  jacket  and  trowsers 
were  meant  to  be  impervious  to  water,  but  the  chilling 
liquid  was  dashed  by  the  force  of  the  wind  against  his 
neck  and  thence  found  its  way  down  to  his  heels.  He 


6  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

did  not  hesitate,  under  such  stress  of  ill  luck,  to  rush 
boldly  against  the  door  of  a  low,  rambling  mountain 
cabin  and  demand  admission.  His  knock  on  the 
rough  planks  was  heard  by  the  inmates  of  the  place, 
despite  the  heavy  roar  of  the  rain,  and  the  response 
was  immediate. 

"  Kem  in,  kem  in,"  spoke  a  rather  pleasing  voice, 
in  the  peculiar  accent  and  intonation  of  the  mount- 
aineers of  the  region,  as  the  door  was  opened,  letting 
the  hunter  and  his  dog  in,  along  with  a  dash  of  slant- 
ing rain.  "  Le'  me  take  them  birds,  strenger,  an*  ye 
jest  git  ther'  by  the  fire.  Hit's  purty  outdacious  rainy 
all  of  a  suddent ;  purty  near  drownd  a  feller."  The 
speaker  was  a  slender,  almost  slight,  man,  near  fifty 
years  old,  flaxen-haired,  thin-faced,  with  a  sharp  nose 
and  a  straggling  beard,  still  lighter  than  his  hair.  He 
took  the  brace  of  birds  off  Moreton's  shoulder  and 
threw  them  aside  on  the  clean  white  floor.  "I'll  jest 
put  yer  gun  up  fur  ye,"  he  continued,  taking  the 
weapon  and  leaning  it  against  the  wall  in  a  corner  of 
the  room.  Then  he  quickly  fetched  a  chair.  "  Set 
down  an'  mek  yerself  at  home,  I'll  punch  up  the  fire, 
hit's  got  sorty  low;  I'll  git  some  light'ood  knots." 

Moreton  found  himself  in  a  place  whose  features  at 
once  interested  him.  Glancing  around  the  room  he 
saw  two  low  beds,  a  few  plain  split-bottomed  chairs,  an 
old  queer  "  bureau,"  or  chest  of  drawers,  with  glass 
knobs,  some  rude  shelves  with  ironstone  dishes  on 


MOUNTAIN  DEW.  7 

them,  a  long  flint-lock  rifle,  hanging  in  buck-horn  forks 
over  the  door,  one  of  which  forks  also  held  a  coon- 
skin  bullet-pouch  and  curiously  carved  powder-horn. 
The  fire-place  before  which  he  sat  was  broad  and  deep, 
roughly  lined  with  jagged  stones  picturesquely  black 
with  fleecy  accumulations  of  soot  from  pine  smoke  ;  it 
was  crossed  by  a  heavy  charred  wooden  crane  and  on 
its  broad  jambs  rested  a  curious  collection  of  cob- 
pipes,  clay-pipes,  wooden  pipes  and  soft-stone  pipes, 
along  with  sundry  ragged  twists  of  brown  home-raised 
tobacco.  There  was  a  low,  wide  window  on  one  side 
of  the  room,  and  beside  it  Moreton's  eyes  rested  for  a 
moment  on  a  slim  girl's  form  in  a  half-cowering 
position.  She  was  so  turned  from  him  that  he  could 
see  no  more  of  her  face  than  a  rounded  line  of  one 
cheek.  There  was  a  heavy  brush  of  long,  bright,  yel- 
lowish flaxen  hair,  a  very  delicate  ear  and  a  glimpse  of 
a  brown  throat  and  neck.  One  hand,  rather  large  but 
shapely,  lay  along  her  lap,  on  the  scant  folds  of  a 
homespun  cotton  dress,  the  skirt  of  which  could  not 
quite  hide  her  coarsely-shod  feet.  There  was  some- 
thing curiously  striking  in  this  crumpled  little  figure 
that  held  Moreton's  gaze  for  a  time.  Through  an 
open  door  that  gave  into  a  smaller  room,  the  intermit- 
tent hum  of  a  spinning-wheel  made  itself  heard,  dis- 
tinct from  the  clash  and  swash  of  the  storm,  and  a  tall 
angular  woman  walked  back  and  forth,  drawing  out 
and  reeling  up  the  coarse  thread  she  was  twisting. 


8  AT  LOVE1  S  EX TKEME S. 

The  man  had  soon  fetched  .wood  and  pine  knots  for 
the  fire,  and  presently  a  liberal  flame  wavered  up  to 
the  mouth  of-  the  great  old  chimney.  He  turned  to 
Moreton  and  said : 

"Lay  off  yer  coat,  strenger,  an'  git  yer  shirt  dry; 
'hit's  outdacious  onagreeable  fur  to  hev  on  a  wet 
shirt." 

Moreton  smiled  pleasantly. 

"  Thank  you,  I  will,"  he  said,  rising  and  stripping 
off  the  stiff  jacket.  "  You  are  very  kind.  I  am  cover- 
ing your  floor  with  water." 

"  Shaw,  that's  nothin',"  replied  the  man,  in  a  tone  of 
gentle  contempt ;  "  ef  ye'd  see  hit  sometimes  when  I 
come  in  ye  mought  talk.  Them  little  puddles  haint 
nothin'  'tall.  The  Colonel  an'  me  jest  floods  the 
whole  house  when  we  gits  wet." 

"  W.onder  ef  John  haint  a  comin',  Pap?" 

This  sudden  inquiry  came  in  a  sweet,  half-shy  voice 
from  the  girl  at  the  window. 

"  She  calls  him  John,  I  calls  him  Colonel,"  explained 
the  man.  Then  turning  to  answer  the  question  : 

"  Oh,  ther's  no  'countin'  fur  him  ;  he's  as  like  to 
stay  out  all  day  and  night  es  any  way ;  hit  don't  make 
no  differ'nce  'bout  rain  es  to  him.  do  it,  Milly  ?" 

The  girl  had  turned  her  face  toward  the  man  when 
she  spoke,  but  now  she  averted  it  again,  a  little  flush 
gathering  on  the  brown  cheek. 

"  He  don't  mind  no  weather,  strenger,  the  Colonel 


MO  UN  TA  IN  DEW.  9 

don't,  rain  er. sunshine  hit's  all  the  same  to  him, 
hain't  hit,  Milly?"  continued  the  host. 

"I  wush  he'd  come  on  back  home,"  exclaimed  the 
girl,  "  that's  what  I  wush."  Moreton  had  turned  his 
back  to  the  fire.  He  was  astride  of  the  chair  and  the 
steam  was  rising  vigorously  from  his  wet  garments. 
Out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  he  kept  glancing  at 
that  lithe,  plump  little  figure  by  the  window.  He  had 
the  taste  of  an  artist,  and  here  was  a  model  for  brush 
or  chisel  to  imitate.  He  was  a  genuine  man,  too,  and 
here  was  a  bit  of  rare  feminine  beauty,  no  matter 
how  coarsely  clad  or  how  hopelessly  uncultured.  She 
had  the  grace  of  outline  common  to  wild  things,  and 
there  was  that  half-pathetic,  half-glad  beam  in  her  face 
that  appeals  to  a  man's  love  of  the  innocent  and  his 
pity  of  the  weak.  Her  head  was  small  and  well-poised 
above  plump  shoulders,  her  bust  was  full,  yet  girlish, 
giving  just  a  hint  of  that  early  ripeness  so  common 
in  southern  countries,  arid  her"  waist  and  limbs  were 
perfect.  At  rare  intervals  one  sees  such  a  girl  among 
the  hardy  peasants  of  most  mountain  regions,  but  not 
so  often  in  America  as  elsewhere. 

"Do  ye  ever  smoke  a  pipe,  stranger?"  inquired 
•the  host,  offering  Moreton  a  cob  pipe  and  a  twist  of 
tobacco. 

"  Thank  you,  yes,  I  will  take  some  of  your  tobacco  ; 
I  have  a  pipe,"  said  the  young  man,  drawing  from  his 
vest  pocket  a  small  meerschaum,  old  and  dark  as 


10  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

mahogany.  He  had  heard  of  the  excellence  of  this 
mountain  home-grown  tobacco. 

"  Hit  air  purty  good,  ef  I  do  say  hit  myself.  Most 
of  'em  roun'  here's  glad  to  git  Tom  White's  'backer  to 
chaw  an'  smoke,  hain't  they,  Milly?"  Mr.  White  thus 
introduced  himself  and  his  tobacco  at  the  same  time. 

At  this  point  Mrs.  White  quit  her  wheel  and  came 
into  the  room.  She  spoke  to  Moreton  pleasantly,  as  if 
she  had  long  known  him,  smiling  cordially. 

"  Ef  you  menfolks  don't  care,  I'll  jest  jine  ye  for  a 
whiff  er  two,"  she  said,  going  to  the  chimney-jamb  and 
selecting  a  pipe. 

They  formed  a  strange  group  around  that  cabin  fire. 
Moreton  felt  the  democratic  force  of  the  situation  and 
enjoyed  it  to  the  full. 

"  Hain't  ye  goin*  to  have  a  hand  in  this  here  gineral 
smoke,  Milly?  "  said  Mr.  White,  chuckling  jocosely  and 
looking,  under  comically-drawn  eyebrows,  at  the  girl. 

"  Now,  Pap,  you  know  I  don't  smoke  at  all,"  she 
quickly  answered,  getting  up  and  leaving  the  room. 
Her  movement  was  as  light  and  nimble  as  that  of  a 
hare. 

"  Course  she  don't  smoke,  ye  know,"  said  White  to 
Moreton,  confidentially  lowering  his  voice ;  "  I  wus  jest 
a  yankin'  at  her  fur  greens  ;  she  knows  when  I'm  a 
greenin'  of  her,  an'  she  gits  tiffy  at  me  in  a  minute. 
She's  es  sharp  es  a  darnin'-needle,  Milly  is." 

"Thomas,  ye  ortn't  ter  plague  Milly  so.  much,  ye'll 


MO  UN  TAIN  DEW.  II 

spile  her  temper.  Milly's  a  mighty  good  gal,"  said 
Mrs.  White  in  a  tone  half  entreaty  and  half  command. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  Mrs.  White  ruled  the  cabin. 
After  a  moment  of  silence,  "She's  oneasy 'bout  the 
Colonel,  now,  but  then  hit's  no  use,  he's  all  right,  rain 
er  shine,"  responded  the  man. 

Moreton,  whose  eyes  furtively  followed  the  girl  as 
she  left  the  room,  saw  that  the  apartment  into  which 
she  passed  was  neatly  carpeted  and  furnished  with  well- 
worn  easy-chairs,  a  table  and  a  desk.  Between  the 
opening  and  closing  of  the  door  he  caught  sight,  also, 
of  long  shelves  of  books  and  some  pictures.  The  room 
appeared  quite  large  and  arranged  as  if  for  a  gentle- 
man's study.  The  contrast  between  its  almost  elegant 
appointments  and  the  arid  blankness  of  the  one  in  which 
Moreton  sat  was  so  pronounced  that,  despite  his  patri- 
cian self-control,  a  wave  of  surprise  passed  over  his  face. 
The  quick  eyes  of  the  mountaineer  saw  this. 

"That  there  air  the  Colonel's  part  of  the  house,"  he 
hastily  said,  a  trace  of  apology  and  disclaimer  in  his 
voice;  "hit  jest  suits  him.  He's  got  a  outdacious  sight 
o'  larnin'  an'  plenty  o'  money.  He  kin  buy  whatever 
he  wants." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  White,  rather  sharply,  "  an'  jest  es 
like  es  not  he's  right  now  a  stan'in'  under  some  tree  er 
rock  a  waitin'  fur  the  rain  to  quit  an'  a  readin'  of  a 
book.  Seems  powerful  quare  to  me." 

Moreton  was   almost  tempted  to  ask  questions,  so 


12  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

quick  an  interest  had  been  generated  by  this  gossip 
about  the  Colonel.  Certainly  this  was  a  strange  home 
for  a  man  of  wealth  and  education.  Possibly  the  Colonel 
was  some  sport-loving  gentleman  from  New  Orleans, 
Mobile  or  Montgomery,  who  had  taken  these  apart- 
ments in  the  cabin  as  a  sort  of  shooting-box,  he 
thought,  for  he  had  heard  much  of  the  peculiarities  and 
extravagances  of  rich  Southerners.  But  his  mental  dis- 
cussion of  this  subject  was  cut  short  by  a  sudden  move- 
ment on  the  part  of  White,  who  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
elevated  his  hands. 

"Well,  hit's  jest  too  outdacious,  Sarah,"  he  cried,  as 
if  utterly  chagrined  ;  "  jest  to  think,  the  strenger  kem 
in  wet  an'  soaked  an'  haint  hed  no  liquor ! " 

"'Bout  like  sech  as  we'ns  to  furgit  what  we're 
'bout,"  responded  Mrs.  White;  "ye'll  find  the  dim'jon 
under  the  tother  bed  behind  the  sack  o'  "taters." 

White  dived  under  the  bed  in  question  and  drew 
forth  a  large  earthen  bottle. 

"  Hit  air  peach  liquor,"  he  said,  advancing  upon 
Moreton  ;  "  the  best  they  air  in  these  parts.  Ye  must 
parding  us,  strenger,  fur  we  clean  furgot  hit." 

Mrs.  White  fetched  a  large,  heavy  tumbler  and 
handed  it  to  Moreton. 

"  Le'  me  pour  fur  ye,  stranger,"  said  White,  uncorking 
the  bottle.  "  Ye'll  find  'at  hit  air  liquor  wo'th  a-drinkin'. 
Hit  ain't  pizened  with  no  revenue  postage,  ye  may  set 
thet  down  solid." 


MO  UN  TAIN  DEW.  13 

Moreton,  with  no  light  inward  protest,  submitted  his 
lips  to  the  proffered  glass.  His  English  taste  for 
excellent  drinks  was  never  more  deliciously  surprised. 
What  began  as  a  formal,  carefully  guarded  sip,  crept  on 
into  a  series  of  slow  quaffs,  ending  in  a  final  hearty 
gulp.  White  grinned  delightedly. 

"  Haint  hit  good,  strenger?  Don't  hit  hev  the  out- 
daciousest  way  o'  gittin'  to  the  very  marrer  of  a  fel- 
ler's neck,  of  any  liquor  ye  ever  tasted  ?  Ef  hit  don't 
git  ther',  none  don't.  The  Colonel  sez  hit's  the  best 
liquor  'at  he  ever  tasted !  an'  hes  traveled,  he  hes. 
Hes  been  in  furren  parts,  Rome  an'  France  an'  them 
air  places." 

Moreton  was  quick  to  acknowledge  that  the  brandy 
was  surpassingly  fine.  It  had  the  bouquet  of  old  wine, 
the  body  of  cognac  and  the  mellow  fire  of  Scotch  whis- 
ky, along  with  a  faint  trace  of  peach  kernels.  He 
thought  of  a  certain  London  club  in  which  he  would 
like  to  introduce  this  Sand  Mountain  nectar. 

White  partook  sparingly  of  the  precious  beverage, 
and  then  carefully  replaced  the  bottle  in  its  hiding- 
place  under  the  bed. 

Meantime  the  heavy  throbs  of  wind  and  rain  shook 
the  cabin  to  its  foundation. 

When  the  mountaineer  returned  to  his  chair  by  the 
fire,  Moreton  inquired  of  him  where  the  brandy  was 
made. 

"  Oh,  I  dunno  jest  wher'  hit  air  made,  nohow.     We 


14  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

calls  hit  the  mounting  jew,"  said  White,  glancing  fur- 
tively at  his  wife.  By  "jew  "he  meant  dew.  The 
peach  brandy  made  in  the  sly  little  stills,  scattered 
among  the  mountains  from  North  Carolina  to  Alabama, 
is  sometimes  locally  called  mountain  dew,  or  rather, 
"  mounting  jew."  It  is  not  the  drink  of  drunkards. 
In  fact  the  mountaineers,  with  now  and  then  an  excep- 
tion, are  remarkably  temperate  in  the  matter  of  tip- 
pling; but  the  jug  of  ujew  "  is  the  special  implement 
of  their  hospitality. 


CHAPTER    II. 

MILLY. 

'T^HAT  was  a  rain  long  to  be  remembered  by  the 
JL  dwellers  in  the  Sand  Mountain  country.  The 
thunder  with  which  the  storm  had  been  heralded  soon 
ceased,  and  the  masses  of  black  clouds  spread  them- 
selves wide,  softening  into  a  smooth,  leaden-colored 
sheet  from  horizon  to  horizon,  whilst  the  rain,  driven 
by  a  throbbing  wind,  trailed  in  a  wavering  flood  over 
the  rugged  landscape.  Every  ravine  and  rocky  gully 
became  a  torrent  of  muddy  water.  The  noises  of  the 
storm  united  into  a  wide  bellowing  that  throbbed 
heavily  around  the  house  whose  friendly  shelter  More- 
ton  was  but  too  glad  to  retain. 

The  inmates  of  the  place  were  not  over-talkative, 
sitting  for  most  of  the  time  listening  with  rather 
solemn  attention  to  the  heavy  beating  of  the  wind 
and  rain. 

After  an  hour  had  passed  and  Moreton's  clothes  had 
dried  somewhat,  he  was  glad  to  accept  his  host's  invi- 
tation to  go  into  the  Colonel's  part  of  the  house.  The 
glimpse  he  had  caught  of  this  sumptuous-looking  room 
— sumptuous  as  compared  with  the  rest  of  the  uncouth, 


1 6  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

scantily  furnished  house — had  set  him  to  wondering 
what  it  could  mean.  As  he  passed  through  the  low 
door-way  the  girl  sprang  up  from  a  stool  in  front  of  an 
easel  that  stood  near  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Her 
face  was  burning  with  the  flush  of  one  surprised  in  an 
act  of  the  most  furtive  nature.  Moreton  paused,  feel- 
ing with  quick  certainty  how  deeply  he  was  embar- 
rassing her.  She  turned  her  large  eyes  on  him  with  a 
startled,  momentary  stare,  and  letting  fall  a  charcoal 
pencil,  fairly  ran  out  of  the  room,  carrying  with  her 
what  appeared  to  be  a  small  block  of  drawing  paper. 
On  the  easel  was  an  unfinished  but  powerful  sketch  of 
a  large  pointer  dog.  The  room  was  littered  with  evi- 
dences of  artistic  and  literary  labor  and  recreation. 
The  walls  were  lined  with  books.  In  the  corners 
stood  guns,  fishing  rods  and  other  implements  of  sport 
by  flood  and  field.  On  a  table  was  a  fine  microscope, 
a  tiny  crucible  and  a  blow-pipe.  A  pair  of  slippers  sat 
on  the  broad  hearth,  and  a  sober-looking  dressing- 
gown  lay  across  a  chair.  Evidently  the  Colonel  was  a 
man  who  knew  how  to  take  his  ease  in  his  inn. 

Moreton  passed  along  by  the  book-shelves,  glancing 
at  the  titles  of  the  books,  finding  side  by  side  the  works 
of  Stuart  Mill  and  the  poems  of  Andre  Chenier,  the 
novels  of  George  Eliot  and  the  rhymes  of  Jasmin  the 
Troubadour,  volumes  of  La  Place,  Goethe  and  Newton 
set  among  the  stories  of  Thomas  Hardy  and  William 
Black,  whilst  the  poems  of  Longfellow  and  Tennyson 


MILLY.  17 

and  Keats  were  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  the  latest 
fictions  of  Zola  and  Daudet.  Copies  of  magazines 
and  weekly  literary  and  art  journals  were  scattered 
promiscuously  about  in  the  room. 

"  The  Colonel  he  air  a  outdacious  quare  man,"  said 
White,  who  had  followed  Moreton  into  the  room,  "  but 
what  he  don't  know  hit  ain't  wo'th  a  knowin',  though 
I  can't  jest  see  what  good  hit's  a  doin'  of  him.  S'pose 
hit's  fun  for  'im,  mebbe,  to  set  here  a  drawin'  of  pic- 
ters  an'  a  writin*  an'  a  paintin'  an'  all  that  air  sort  o' 
doin's.  But  then  ef  he  wants  to,  an'  he  pays  me  for 
the  use  o'  my  house,  hit's  all  proper  I  s'pect.  Then 
he's  all  over  a  gentleman,  the  Colonel  air,  a  perfect  gen- 
tleman, with  a  heart  es  big  es  a  fodder-stack." 

"  Does  the  Colonel  make  this  his  permanent  home?" 
inquired  Moreton,  taking  up  a  volume  bound  in  old 
black  leather,  and  glancing  at  its  title  page,  on  a  space 
of  which  was  written  in  a  rather  small  but  decidedly 
masculine  hand,  the  name  :  John  Mercer  Reynolds. 

"  Fur  more'n  six  years  he's  been  right  here  constant, 
'ceptin'  when  he'd  go  off  for  a  while  seein'  to  'is  busi- 
ness an*  sich.  Thet's  'is  name  ther'  wher'yer  a  readin' 
in  the  book.  I  can't  read  no  writin',  but  I  know  'at 
hit's  'is  name,  though  ;  Colonel  John  M.  Reynolds, 
haint  hit  ?  " 

Moreton  made  no  reply ;  he  was  looking  at  the  name 
in  a  musing  way,  his  brows  slightly  contracted.  Pres- 
ently he  turned  to  White  and  said  : 


18  AT  LO VE 'S  EXTREMES. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Reynolds?" 

"  The  Colonel  he  went  out  a  huntin'  this  mornin* 
an'  he  haint  come  back  yet.  He'll  be  in  'fore  long,  a 
drippin'  like  a  ash-hopper  an'  es  wet  es  a  swamp," 
answered  White.  Then,  after  a  moment's  pause  he 
looked  quizzically  at  Moreton  and  added : 

"  Ye  don't  hev  any  'quaintance  of  the  Colonel,  hev 
ye?" 

"  I  am  not  sure.  The  name  is  that  of  a  friend  of 
mine  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  years.  Is  he  tall  and 
dark  with  deep  gray  eyes  and — " 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  air  that  kind  of  a  man,  an'  he  air  fine- 
lookin'  an'  handsome  an'  hes  ben  all  over  ever'  wher' 
an'  knows  all  about  most  ever'  thing  an'  ever'  body. 
Yes,  sir,  that  air  Colonel  he  air  a  outdacious  fine  man." 

"Yes,  yes,  he  is,  no  doubt,"  Moreton  responded 
absently,  really  quite  unaware  of  what  he  was  saying. 
His  memory  was  busy  with  things  of  the  past.  Was  it 
possible  that  he  had  thus  again  accidentally  stumbled 
upon  Reynolds?  Of  all  the  men  he  ever  had  met  he 
liked  Reynolds  best.  The  very  name  had  its  fascina- 
tion, just  as  something  in  the  man  himself  had  its  mys- 
terious charm,  disconnected  from  any  social,  moral  or 
intellectual  attractiveness. 

"Where  did  Mr.  Reynolds  come  from  when  he  came 
here  ?  "  he  demanded,  coming  suddenly  and  wholly  back 
to  himself  and  looking  at  White  who  had  begun  to 
move  away. 


MILL  Y.  19 

"  The  Colonel  he  kem  f 'm — kem  f  m — f 'm — I  couldn't 
say  e'zactly  wher'  the  Colonel  kem  f'm  ;  but  som'ers  in 
furren  parts,  I'm  sartaing  of  thet." 

"  Six  years  ago,  I  think  you  told  me." 

"  Yes,  a  leetle  the  rise  of  six.  The  Colonel  he  kem 
yer  in  Septem'er." 

"Sings  well,  the  Colonel,  does  he?  " 

"  Sing !  dern,  but  ye  orter  heer  'im,  strenger.  He 
ken  beat  a  meth'dis'  nigger  all  to  striffins.  He  air  a 
singer  for  ter  mek  yer  hair  stan',  the  Colonel  air." 

"  Plays  superbly  on  the  guitar?" 

"  On  the  git-tar  ?  Yer  may  say  he  does,  strenger. 
When  he  plays  onto  the  git-tar,  I  calls  hit  a  pickin' 
onto  the  git  ther',  and  the  Colonel  he  ken  git  ther'  with 
the  bes'  chunes  'at  ever  split  the  wind,  dead  sartaing." 

White's  sallow  face  betrayed,  as  he  finished  speaking, 
a  perfect  faith  in  the  legitimacy  of  his  humor,  and 
Moreton  felt  bound  to  laugh. 

At  this  point  the  girl  came  shyly  to  the  door  and 
said : 

"  Pap,  dinner  air  ready." 

Moreton  could  not  refrain  from  looking  boldly,  even 
searchingly,  into  that  sweet,  innocent,  half-vacant  face. 
He  felt  an  obscure  pang  enter  his  breast,  as  if  in  some 
way  her  pathetic,  hopeless  prettiness  accused  him.  She 
was  probably  sixteen,  and,  though  rather  slight, 
remarkably  well-formed  and  graceful.  Her  scant, 
coarse  drapery  served  to  indicate  more  than  to  hide  her 


20  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

body's  curves  and  the  outlines  of  her  supple  limbs.  It 
was  her  face,  however,  that  had  in  it  the  power  of 
leaving  in  Moreton's  memory  a  haunting,  elusive 
impression  that  would  not  go  out.  She  did  not  take  a 
seat  with  her  parents  and  their  guest  at  the  table,  but 
filled  the  place  of  serving  maid,  passing  silently  behind 
their  chairs,  offering  the  dishes  of  ill-cooked  coarse  food 
and  anticipating  with  swift  movements  the  needs  of 
each. 

"  Ef  the  Colonel  wus  here  now,"  said  White,  poising 
a  piece  of  fried  bacon  between  his  plate  and  his  mouth, 
"  ye'd  never  git  him  to  eat  this  yere  kind  er  victuals. 
Nary  time,  sir.  He'd  hev  br'iled  chicken,  er  squir'l, 
an*  white  bread  an'  milk  an'  I  don't  know  what  all. 
The  Colonel  he  air  high  tony  dinktom  'bout  what  he 
chaws,  le'  me  tell  ye.  He  keeps  a  lot  o'  wine  in  'is 
closet,  'an  hit  air  outdacious  fine  liquor,  too." 

Moreton,  whose  eyes  followed  Milly  at  every  fair 
opportunity,  saw  her  lean  over  White's  chair  and  heard 
her  say  in  a  low,  earnest  tone  : 

"  Hush,  Pap,  John  he  wudn'  like  hit  ef  ye  said  so 
much  'bout  his  doin's.  I  wush  ye'd  keep  still  'bout 
him  anyhow." 

It  was  little  more  than  a  pretense  of  eating  with 
Moreton.  The  corn  bread,  collards,  sweet  potatoes 
and  fat  fried  bacon,  which  were  to  be  washed  down  with 
bitter  coffee,  did  not  suit  his  English  appetite.  Then, 
too,  he  was  so  busy  with  the  thought  of  Reynolds  and 


MILLY.  21 

so  troubled  by  the  wistful  face  of  this  strangely  beau- 
tiful mountain  girl,  that  even  the  choicest  dinner  might 
not  have  tempted  him. 

The  rain  held  on  steadily  until  far  along  in  the  after- 
noon. Reynolds  did  not  come,  and  when  Moreton  saw 
the  clouds  breaking  away  in  the  west,  and  heard  the 
swash  of  the  shower  slowly  sinking  into  a  desultory 
pattering  on  the  cabin  roof,  he  sat  down  at  the  Colonel's 
desk  and  wrote  a  short  note  as  follows : 

"  MY  DEAR  REYNOLDS  : 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  have  at  last  found  you 
again.  If  I  am  mistaken  you  will  pardon  my  blunder.  If 
I  were  perfectly  sure  that  you  are  my  old  friend  whom 
I  lost  so  easily  and  would  give  so  much  to  see,  I  would 
not  go  from  this  house  without  having  heard  your 
voice  and  held  your  hand.  I  am  so  sure  that  you  are 
the  very  Reynolds  to  whom  I  owe  every  thing  and 
whose  friendship  is  the  warmest  spot  in  my  life,  that  I 
am  nearly  on  the  point  of  staying  at  a  venture ;  but 
the  rain  seems  over,  and  I  have  a  very  long  walk  and 
shall  go  at  once.  I  am  at  the Hotel  in  Birming- 
ham. Won't  you  come  to  see  me  at  once?  If  you  are 
my  Reynolds  you  know  how  you  will  be  received  ;  if  I 
have  blundered  and  you  are  not  the  friend  I  have 
so  long  missed,  you  shall  have  the  humble  apolo- 
gies of 

"  EDWARD  MORETON." 


22  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

• 

When  this  hasty  epistle  was  finished,  Moreton 
addressed  it  and  placed  it  on  the  table.  A  few 
minutes  later  the  girl  came  into  the  room.  Moreton 
rose. 

"Will  you  be  kind  enough,"  he  said  to  her,  "to  hand 
Colonel  Reynolds  this  letter  when  he  comes  home  ?  " 

She  looked  sideways  at  him  and  blushed  scarlet,  but 
said  nothing  and  did  not  move  from  where  she  had 
stopped  beside  the  door.  A  bright  strand  of  her  hair 
had  fallen  forward  across  her  shoulder  and  breast. 

"  I  shall  be  greatly  obliged,"  he  continued,  turning 
the  envelope  about  on  the  table  with  his  finger.  "  You 
will  be  doing  me  a  great  favor.  Colonel  Reynolds  is  a 
dear  friend  of  mine." 

Unconsciously  he  used  a  wheedling  tone  in  speaking 
to  her,  as  he  would  have  done  in  trying  to  coax  a  little 
child. 

She  moved  one  hand  nervously,  and  a  pallor 
encroached  upon  the  flush  in  her  cheeks.  Her  sweet, 
strange  eyes  dilated  with  some  sudden  emotion.  It  may 
have  been  mere  bashfulness  and  the  embarrassment  of 
ignorance  and  timidity.  She  appeared  so  helpless,  so 
prettily  forlorn,  so  innocent  and  sweet,  and  yet  she 
seemed  so  vulgar,  uncouth  and  hopelessly  shallow, 
withal.  Moreton,  despite  himself,  felt-  the  infection  of 
her  timidity  and  shyness  and  became  silent.  She  stood 
for  a  time  as  if  wavering  between  opposing  impulses, 
then  in  a  sudden  and  breathless  way  she  said  : 


MILL  Y.  23 

"  Does  John  know  you  ?  Where'd  ye  ever  see  John? 
He  never  told  me  'bout  ye."  She  was  still  glancing 
sideways  at  him  over  her  shoulder,  and  standing  with 
one  foot  resting  across  the  toe  of  the  other,  her  left 
elbow  pressed  against  the  wall. 

Moreton  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  It  was  a  long  way  off  from  here  that  I  saw  him. 
Beyond  the  sea,  across  many  countries.  Ask  him  to 
tell  you  about  Edward  Moreton.  He  will  remember  a 
great  many  things  that  we  did.  We  had  many  adven- 
tures together.  He's  a  grand  fellow." 

"  What  air  a  grand  feller  ?  What  d'ye  mean  by 
that  there?  "  she  slowly  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  mean  a  great  deal,  every  thing  that  is  worth 
meaning,"  said  Moreton.  Then  feeling  that  he  had 
failed  to  satisfy  her,  he  added  in  a  very  gentle  tone : 
"  I  mean  that  he  is  good  and  that  I  like  him." 

She  smiled,  and  a  sudden  pleasure  flashed  from  her 
eyes ;  but  her  face  quickly  resumed  its  almost  stolid 
repose  and  the  vague  trace  of  helplessness  and  pathetic 
innocence  returned. 

The  rain  was  over  and  Moreton  got  ready  to  go  just 
as  the  sun,  now  far  down  the  west,  swung  free  of  the 
scattering  cloud  and  flamed  against  a  space  of  intensely 
blue  sky  above  the  most  distant  purple  mountain 
peaks. 

White  refused  to  accept  any  pay  for  the  shelter  and 
food  given  to  Moreton,  and,  carrying  his  practical 


24  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

mountain  generosity  still  further,  he  slung  the  brace  of 
turkeys  across  his  shoulder  and  led  the  way  for  more 
than  a  mile,  to  put  his  guest  into  a  path  which  was  the 
shortest  route  over  the  mountain  to  a  highway  lead- 
ing into  Birmingham.  The  two  men  shook  hands 
at  parting  on  the  highest  swell  of  a  heavy  ridge,  whence 
they  could  see  the  little  city,  with  its  great  columns  of 
coal-smoke  and  its  shining  white  houses,  lying  far  below 
amidst  the  gentle  undulations  of  the  valley.  A  long 
walk  yet  remained  for  Moreton,  with  no  companion 
save  the  little  spaniel ;  but  his  thoughts  were  of  such  a 
nature  that  he. scarcely  noted  how  rough  and  tiresome 
was  the.way.  The  clouds  were  now  all  gone  and  the 
sky,  as  night  drew  on,  was  filled  with  stars  that,  seen 
through  the  purified  air,  appeared  to  flame  and  waver 
like  the  flare  of  sunlight  on  ice.  The  temperature  had 
fallen  several  degrees,  giving  a  keen  edge  to  the  breeze 
which  was  now  out  of  the  north-west ;  but  there  still 
arose  from  the  pine  woods  that  resinous  fragrance 
which  is  a  balm  for  every  wound  that  occasional  inclem- 
encies of  the  mountain  weather  may  give.  The  streams 
had  subsided  as  suddenly  as  they  had  risen,  and  all 
nature  seemed  hastening  to  regain  that  tranquil  equi- 
librium for  which  the  southern  winters  are  noted. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MR.    HAWKINS    NOBLE. 

MORETON,  the  more  he  thought  the  matter  over, 
grew  surer  and  surer  of  the  fact  that  he  had  dis- 
covered Reynolds,  his  long  lost  friend.  They  had  been 
art  students  together  in  Paris,  and  had  been  companions 
in  a  rather  wild  eastern  ramble  during  which  some 
quite  memorable  adventures  had  befallen  them. 
Finally  they  had  separated,  on  account  of  a  mild  sort 
of  quarrel  over  a  sweetheart,  Reynolds  quitting  the 
field  most  mysteriously,  leaving  Moreton  free  to  press 
his  suit,  which  at  the  last  wholly  failed.  It  .does  not 
matter  here  what  was  the  extent  or  color  of  their  dis- 
agreement, but  it  may  be  said  that  there  was  nothing 
violent  or  tragic  in  it.  In  fact  it  may  all  be  summed 
up  in  the  sentence :  Reynolds  disappeared ;  and  so 
sudden  and  secret  was  his  going  that  Moreton  lost  him 
quite  as  effectually  as  if  he  had  died  and  been  buried. 
Such  a  disappearance  has  in  it  an  element  of  tragic 
mystery  that  burns  into  one's  memory.  Moreton 
really  knew  little  of  Reynolds,  save  that  he  was  an 
American  and  a  Southerner,  a  fascinating  companion, 
and  a  genial,  brave,  liberal  fellow.  If  their  parting  had 
been  the  ordinary  one,  such  as  must  come  at  length  to 


26  AT  LO VE 'S  EXTREMES. 

any  traveling  companions,  perhaps  a  few  months  might 
have  sufficed  to  obliterate  all  regrets  connected  with  it. 
But  the  peculiar  circumstances  under  which  it  had  come 
about  had  served  to  fasten  it  with  a  rather  fiery  em- 
phasis in  Moreton's  memory.  He  remembered  Reynolds 
as  a  proud,  peculiarly  sensitive  man,  given  to  excess  of 
sentiment,  an  extremist,  running  to  great  lengths  of  self- 
indulgence  at  times,  and  at  other  times  a  model  of 
temperateness  that  bordered  on  utter  self-denial.  A 
man  with  a  violent  conscience,  prone  to  brood  over 
follies  and  indulge  gloomy  regret  for  sins  about  which 
most  young  men  would  unhesitatingly  have  made 
broad  jokes,  but  yet  a  man  given  to  unlimited  pleas- 
ures. In  person  he  was  of  noble  proportions,  quite  a 
typical  low-country  Southerner,  bearing  in  his  high- 
bred face  an  air  of  fearlessness  and  obvious  pride  touched 
to  a  degree  with  something  that  suggested  reckless- 
ness. He  was  reckless,  indeed,  now  and  again,  always, 
however,  suffering  the  extremest  pangs  of  repentance 
after  each  lapse  into  excesses. 

It  had  seemed  to  surprise  Reynolds  in  the  last 
degree  when  he  discovered  that  Moreton  had  become 
his  rival,  and  surprise  had  quickly  blazed  up  into  furi- 
ous anger.  For  a  time  it  had  appeared  as  if  there  must 
be  a  fight,  but  before  this  could  happen  Reynolds  con- 
trolled himself  and  the  reaction  came.  Moreton 
appeared  to  be  successful,  and  his  rival,  in  a  fit  of  gloom, 
disappeared  from  the  scene.  It  is  easy  to  understand 


MR.  HA  WKIXS  NOBLE.  2^ 

how  Moreton  would  be  affected  by  such  a  turn  of 
affairs,  and  when,  a  day  or  two  after  the  events  of  the 
preceding  chapter,  Reynolds  appeared  at  the  hotel  in 
Birmingham,  the  meeting  was,  of  course,  a  very  cordial 
one ;  for  Moreton  was  in  no  mood  to  allow  his  friend  any 
room  to  doubt  his  sincerity.  He  had  not  prospered  with 
his  suit  after  Reynolds'  departure.  Somehow  he  could 
not  press  it  with  that  ardor  which  kept  his  heart  on 
fire  so  long  as  a  rival  was  in  view.  It  may  have  been 
that  the  mystery  of  Reynolds'  flight  cast  a  damper  on 
the  feelings  of  the  young  lady  as  well  as  over  his  own 
spirit.  It  is  even  possible  that  in  truth  she  preferred 
the  impulsive,  magnetic  Southerner  to  the  rather  mat- 
ter-of-fact Englishman.  At  all  events,  Moreton's  woo- 
ing had  languished  with  the  ending  of  the  rivalry,  the 
young  lady  showing  a  decided  willingness  to  have  done 
with  the  affair  on  the  shortest  possible  notice. 

.Such  things  may  appear  to  conclude  very  easily  and 
naturally,  to  the  best  satisfaction  of  those  concerned  ; 
but  usually  a  sting  remains  with  one  or  more  of  the 
actors  that  time  is  slow  to  remove.  Moreton  had  felt 
this  sting  from  two  sources.  He  had  lost  his  friend,  he 
had  lost  his  sweetheart.  His  friendship  had  been  deep 
and  true,  his  passion  for  the  girl  had  been  strong,  no  mat- 
ter if  not  rooted  deeper  than  his  fancy.  At  one  point 
conscience  griped  Moreton  with  bitter  force :  he  had 
been  ungrateful  to  Reynolds,  who  had  not  hesitated 
to  risk  his  life  for  him  in  the  most  desperate  exigency 


28  AT  LOVE  'S  EXTREMES. 

of  his  quite  eventful  career.     And  now  Reynolds  had 
added  self-sacrifice  to  heroism. 

So  that  it  will  be  readily  understood  how  Moreton 
easily  fell  into  a  state  of  mind  that  rendered  him  rest- 
less and  self-accusing.  His  great  wish  that  he  might 
one  day  find  his  friend  again,  and  in  some  way  make 
reparation  for  the  injury  done  him,  was  tinged  with 
such  sentimentality  as  the  situation  would  naturally 
generate  in  a  mind,  which  though  quite  practical  and 
well-balanced,  was  somewhat  given  to  visionary  fancies. 

They  sat  down  to  a  good  dinner,  and,  with  due  appre- 
ciation of  its  qualities,  paused  between  its  courses  to 
let  their  conversation  lightly  circle  around  the  point  of 
their  past  trouble,  without  coming  quite  to  it.  Rey- 
nolds knew  that  Moreton  was  still  a  bachelor,  he  had 
caught  this  much  from  his  friend's  manner  and  talk.  It 
flashed  through  his  mind  that,  after  all,  he  had,  perhaps, 
done  himself  great  wrong  and  Moreton  no  good  by 
acting  up  to  a  standard  of  duty  recognized  by  few  men. 
But  it  was  too  late  to  consider  the  matter  now.  It  was 
all  over  and  the  dead  past  must  bury  its  dead.  Besides, 
had  he  not  long  ago  dashed  aside  the  poor  bau- 
ble he  had  once  called  love !  The  subject  could  not, 
would  not  be  avoided,  nevertheless,  and  when  it  had 
been  reached  and  fully  talked  over,  both  felt  relieved. 

"She  is  married,"  said  Moreton,  "and  is  living  in 
Florence.  Her  husband  is  Count  somebody  and  she 
is  an  invalid,  so  I  have  heard." 


MR.  HA  WKIXS  NOBLE.  29 

"  I  give  you  my  word,  Moreton,"  responded  Rey- 
nolds, after  a  moment's  silence,  "that  I  am  sincerely 
glad  she  is  married,  and  quite  sorry  that  she  has  lost 
her  superb  health.  Suppose  we  dismiss  her  forever 
from  our  minds  and  our  lives." 

"  Done  !  "  cried  Moreton  almost  jocularly,  extending 
his  hand.  "  I  have  been  deuced  near  proposing  that 
for  the  last  half  hour.  It  takes  a  load  off  my  breast 
and  a  cloud  off  my  mind.  Here's  to  a  clear  future,  old 
fellow !  " 

He  filled  their  glasses  and  they  drank  in  a  genial  if 
not  a  jovial  mood.  It  was  a  light  way  in  which  to  dis- 
pose of  so  weighty  a  matter  as  this  had  once  been  con- 
sidered by  them  ;  but  then  it  is  the  tricksy  summer 
breath  that  tranquilizes  the  sea  after  the  tropic  storm. 
They  were  both  glad  to  unburden  themselves  of  certain 
troublesome  doubts  as  to  the  genuineness  of  the  pas- 
sion each  had  professed.  This  done,  that  episode  in 
their  lives  seemed  to  remove  itself  to  a  vast  distance  in 
the  dim  past,  so  they  fancied,  and  they  dismissed  it  as 
a  departed  illusion  of  their  youth.  Moreton  looked  at 
his  friend  with  more  than  the  old  admiration.  Indeed 
Reynolds  was  a  man  of  superb  physique  and  his  face 
was  one  to  win  men  and  charm  women.  With  all  his 
health  and  strength  and  what  might  be  called  weather- 
stain,  there  was  in  his  dark  gray  eyes  and  in  his  low, 
rich  voice,  a  suggestion  of  that  nonchalance  and  indo- 
lence which  have  always  been  characteristic  of  the 


30  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

highest  type  of  Southerners.  Nearly  six  feet  in  stature, 
square  shouldered,  slender,  compact,  every  inch  an 
athlete,  he  gave  one  an  idea  of  strength,  both  physical 
and  mental,  which  needed  to  be  roused  into  action. 

"  I  think  it  deuced  strange,  don't  you  know,  that  I 
should  have  stumbled  into  your  den  here  in  the  mount- 
ains," said  Moreton.  "  It  is  like  romance.  They  put 
such  things  in  novels." 

"  It  was  a  clever  turn  of  luck,"  lightly  responded 
Reynolds,  "  or,  perhaps  I  should  say  fate.  No  doubt 
it  is  ordered  that  you  and  I  shall  yet  work  out  together 
some  subtle  decree  of  Providence.  After  all,  incidents 
and  events  do  not  come  of  haphazard." 

"  I  never  philosophize,  you  know,"  said  Moreton. 
"  I  am  never  expecting  any  thing  save  the  very  thing  I 
am  looking  and  striving  for.  I  was  turkey  hunting 
when  I  found  your  outlandish  cabin.  What  the  deuce 
are  you  doing  over  there  ?" 

"  That  is  a  hard  question.  I  have  spent  some 
delightfully  quiet,  uneventful  years  in  that  house.  I 
find  good  shooting  at  times,  the  air  is  pure  and  sweet, 
the  water  is  excellent,  the  retirement  is  perfect." 
Reynolds  paused  for  a  time  and  then  continued  :  "  Oh 
well,  I  had  grown  tired  of  wandering  and  rather  dis- 
gusted with  the  world  in  general  and  I  fancied  I  should 
enjoy  being  a  hermit  fora  while.  I  tried  it  and  found 
it  charming." 

Moreton  thought  he  detected  evidence  in  his  friend's 


MR.  HA  WRINS  NOBLE.  3t 

manner  of  a  reserve  of  some  stronger  reasons  for  thus 
hiding  himself  away  from  the  world ;  but  he  took  the 
explanation  without  further  question. 

"  That's  a  pretty  lass  of  White's,"  Moreton  said, 
after  the  conversation  had  rambled  over  such  parts  of 
Reynolds'  life  for  the  past  few  years  as  he  cared  to  lay 
bare.  "  Her  sweet,  solemn,  smiling,  troubled  face  has 
haunted  me  ever  since  I  saw  her." 
Reynolds  laughed. 

"Don't  make  too  much  fun  of  the  poor  little  thing," 
he  said,  half-seriously,  half  lightly.  "  Hers  is  a  vacant 
lot.  She  is  as  scentless  and  colorless  as  she  is  cramped 
and  undeveloped.  I  can't  imagine  what  she  was  made 
for." 

"  But  what  a  form  and  what  a  haunting,  hungry, 
sweet  face  she  has  ! " 

Reynolds  looked  with  a  sudden  surprise  into  More- 
ton's  eyes,  his  own  dilating.  Presently  he  laughed 
again. 

"  I  do  believe  you  are  in  earnest,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
tone  at  once  deprecatory  and  querulous,  "  for  you 
couldn't  have  the  heart,  even  at  this  distance,  to  ridi- 
cule the  unfortunate  little  creature.  In  this  region  the 
poor  whites  are  all  deplorably  ignorant  and  queer;  but 
she — she  is  a  pathetic  cipher,  poor  thing." 

"  Physically  she  is  perfect,"  insisted  Moreton.  "  Can 
it  be  possible  that  you,  a  poet  and  artist,  have  all  these 
years  overlooked,  ignored,  waived  aside  such  a  model  ? 


3 2  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

I  tell  you,  Reynolds,  she's  agenuine  wood  nymph,  don't 
you  know,  a  dryad  whom  the  satyrs  have  scared  out  of 
her  wits.  I  never  saw  such  eyes,  such  lips  and — 

"  Oh  come  now,"  said  Reynolds,  "  I  am  not  going  to 
listen  to  such  nonsense.  Besides,  it  strikes  me  as  next 
to  brutal  to  think  of  discussing  the  charms  of  an  arid, 
dull,  ugly  little  cracker  girl  -  -  well  no,  not  a  cracker, 
either,  a  Sandlapper  is  the  local  phrase.  The  fact  that 
such  girls  exist  and  must  become  women  and  be  moth- 
ers of  like  beings,  is  to  me  a  subject  that  it  is  a  virtue 
to  shun.  On  such  a  theme  seriousness  is  disheartening, 
levity  is  diabolical." 

"  Every  thing  au  stfrieux,  as  of  old ! "  exclaimed 
Moreton,  "  you  bewildering  old  philanthropist  \  I  am 
too  happy  to  quarrel  with  you  now.  Wait  till  the 
newness  of  having  discovered  your  hiding  place  has 
somewhat  rubbed  off  and  I'll  give  you  punch  for  punch 
with  a  will.  But  I  do  say,  in  all  candor,  that  I  never 
was  so  struck  with  any  bit  of  wild  beauty  as  I  was  with 
that  queer,  solemn-eyed  girl  of  White's.  She  might 

make  any  painter's  fortune  as  a  Daphne  or " 

Reynolds  interrupted  him  : 

"  It  is  only  once  in  a  century  or  two,"  he  said,  "  that 
the  world's  intermittent  sentiment  will  permit  a  Millet 
or  a  Burns  to  cast  the  glamor  of  genius  over  the  stolid 
ugliness  and  the  immitigable  emptiness  of  peasant  life. 
As  for  me,  I  have  no  sympathy  with  it  from  the  stand- 
point of  art.  There  is  no  artistic  alchemy  that  can 


MR.  HA  WKIXS  NOBLE.  33 

make  a  sow's  ear  fine  or  beautiful.  Those  who  under- 
take to  idealize  ignorance,  stupidity  and  coarseness  are 
worse  than  such  realists  as  Zola,  because  they  willfully 
deceive  those  whom  they  succeed  in  interesting." 

."Go  on,  wade  out,  you  know  I  can't  follow  you," 
exclaimed  Moreton.  "  I  love  the  shallow  places,  the  soft 
sweet  edges  of  all  sorts  of  streams  ;  but  I'll  bet  five  to 
one  on  you  for  touching  bottom  at  all  points  and  with- 
out weights  !  " 

Reynolds  laughed  and  waved  aside  the  wine  his 
friend  offered. 

At  this  moment  a  portly  gentleman,  wearing  a 
bland  smile  between  his  iron-gray  mutton-chop  whisk- 
ers, and  a  vast  gold  seal  below  his  vest,  approached 
Moreton  from  another  part  of  the  large  dining  room. 
This  was  Mr.  Hawkins  Noble,  a  person  of  import- 
ance in  Birmingham,  a  banker  in  fact,  whose  money 
and  financial  sagacity  had  given  to  that  prosperous 
little  city  the  larger  part  of  its  vim  and  activity.  It 
was  to  be  seen  at  a  glance  that  he  was  what  some  one 
has  aptly  and  inelegantly  phrased  as  a  "  big  fish  in  a 
little  puddle."  He  was  a  New  Yorker,  and  his  connec- 
tion with  a  great  banking  house  in  the  metropolis  had 
followed  him  to  Birmingham  with  the  effect  of  a  sepa- 
rate atmosphere  circulating  close  about  his  stout  figure. 
There  was  in  his  movements  a  celerity  quite  out  of 
keeping  with  his  heavy  limbs  and  rotund  body,  and  his 
small  blue  eyes  had  a  twinkle  which  was  a  compromise 


34  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREME S. 

between  the  glint  of  ice  and  the  genial  reflection  from 
a  June  sky.  He  rubbed  his  hands  together  as  he  came 
near  the  table. 

"Hello,  Moreton,"  he  exclaimed,  with  the  intonation 
of  one  speaking  at  a  telephone,  "  pardon  me  for  inter- 
rupting you,  but  I  have  a  matter  of  importance.  Oh, 
keep  your  seat,"  He  hastily  added,  as  Moreton  made  a 
movement  to  rise,  "it's  nothing  in  the  slightest  private, 
only  an  urgent  invitation  for  you  to  join  me  in  a  most 
delightful  bit  of  field  sport.  General  DeKay,  who 
owns  a  grand  plantation  and  quail  preserve  below  here, 
has  sent  me  word  to  collect  a  party  of  gentlemen  and 
bring  them  next  week  for  a  few  days'  shooting.  How 
does  that  strike  you?" 

"  It  strikes  me  deuced  hard,"  answered  Moreton. 
"  Don't  you  know  I  never  did  refuse  a  thing  like  that, 
never." 

Mr.  Noble  laughed.  He  looked  like  a  man  who 
thoroughly  enjoyed  laughing  for  the  sake  of  the  gen- 
eral shaking  up  it  gave  him.  Reynolds  could  not  help 
wondering  how  this  rather  over-corpulent  old  gentle- 
man could  ever  manage  to  get  much  comfort  out  of 
active  field  sports. 

"  It's  bound  to  be  a  most  delightful  affair,"  contin- 
ued Mr.  Noble.  "  The  General  has  some  fine  dogs,  I 
shall  take  mine,  you  yours :  now  where  can  I  find  one 
or  two  more  good  fellows  who  are  up  to  such  music?  " 

Moreton  rose. 


MR.  HA  WKItfS  NOBLE.  35 

"Allow  me,  Mr.  Noble,  to  present  my  friend,  Col- 
onel Reynolds,  who  is  a  most  enthusiastic  sportsman 
and  who  has  a  choice  kennel." 

The  banker  reached  for  Reynolds'  hand  with  a  read- 
iness and  swiftness  which,  though  incomparable,  had  no 
appearance  of  undue  haste.  It  was  merely  indicative 
of  a  nimbleness  and  a  promptness  for  which  in  all  his 
affairs  Mr.  Noble  was  noted.  His  mind  and  body 
acted  together  on  the  instant  and  on  the  slightest  call. 

"  An  enthusiastic  sportsman,"  he  said,  "  is  a  man  after 
my  own  heart-pattern.  I  am  glad  o,f  your  acquaint- 
ance, Colonel  Reynolds.  May  I  book  you  and  your 
choicest  dogs  for  the  shooting  ?  Don't  say  no,  for  we 
shall  have  a  grand  time  of  it." 

"  Why,  I  thank  you,  indeed,  sir,  but  I  can  hardly  say 
whether " 

"  Come,  now,  Reynolds,"  interposed  Moreton,  "  I 
can't  go  without  you,  you  know,  and  you  mustn't 
refuse.  I  fancy  I  can  see  the  dogs  down  to  a  point 
now  and  the  birds  whirring  up  from  the  cover.  It 
makes  my  blood  tingle  to  think  of  it !  " 

"Allow  me  also  to  insist,"  added  Mr.  Noble  with  a 
nimble  bow  and  genial  smile.  "  I  can  vouch  for  the 
sport,  as  also  for  General  DeKay's  cordial  hospitality. 
He  has  a  large  preserve,  which  he  has  been  at  great 
pains  to  stock,  and  he  insists  upon  my  bringing  a  little 
army  down  to  shoot  with  him  over  his  grounds." 

Reynolds  saw  no  way  out  of  it ;    in  fact  he  quickly 


36  AT  LO  VE  '5  EXTREMES. 

felt  the  fascination  of  the  proposed  sport  taking  hold 
of  him.  He  had  been  shut  up  in  the  mountains  for  so 
long  that  the  thought  of  a  few  days  with  jovial  com- 
panions in  the  open  fields  of  the  low  country  was  like 
a  fragrant  breath  from  the  past. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Noble,"  he  at  length 
said,  "  and  if  I  can,  in  your  opinion,  add  any  thing  to 
the  success  of  your  very  attractive  plan,  I  ought  not  to 
refuse,  especially  as  I  am  hungry  for  a  genuine  old- 
fashioned  day  with  the  quails." 

"  Good ! "  exclaimed  the  banker,  again  darting  his 
soft  white  hand  towards  Reynolds,  "  I  am  delighted. 
I  am  off  now  on  some  pressing  business  ;  shall  be  glad 
to  give  you  and  Mr.  Moreton  further  details  of  our 
project  in  due  time.  Shall  hope  to  have  you  both  at 
my  house  to  dine  before  we  are  off  for  General  De- 
Kay's." 

He  bowed  with  amazing  suppleness  and  walked 
swiftly  from  the  room.  He  left  behind  him,  so  to 
speak,  lingering  in  the  air,  a  suggestion  of  irrepressible 
alertness,  outrightness  and  vim. 

"There's  an  old  boy  for  you, "said  Moreton,  resuming 
his  seat  at  the  table  and  motioning  Reynolds  to  do 
likewise.  "  I  have  never  seen  another  at  all  like  him. 
Make  a  friend  of  him,  and  there's  no  end  to  the  good 
he  will  do  you.  There's  not  a  doubt  that  he  left  urgent 
business  to  come  here  and  get  me  into  his  party.  I'm 
delighted  that  you  were  here,  don't  you  know,  for  we'll 


MR.  HAWKINS  NOBLE.  37 

have  a  rare  lark.  General  DeKay  is  one  of  your  fine 
old-time  Southern  planters,  I'm  told,  whose  hospitality 
is  as  broad  as  his  fields." 

"  I'm  a  fool  for  consenting  to  join  you,"  Reynolds 
bluntly  exclaimed,  "  but  I  am  committed  to  the  folly 
and  must  make  the  most  of  it." 

"  Since  when  have  you  come  to  consider  a  day  or  so 
behind  the  dogs  in  good  quail  cover  a  folly? "said 
Moreton,  with  a  ring  of  good-humored  resentment  in 
his  voice. 

"  You  misconstrue  me,"  replied  Reynolds,  "  I  shrink 
from  the  other  feature  of  the  affair.  I  am  out  of  soci- 
ety for  good  and  all.  I  fear  there  will  be  more  women 
than  dogs  and  quail." 

Moreton  laughed  as  a  vision  of  Mr.  Noble's 
charming  daughter  arose  in  his  mind.  She  at  least 
would  be  one  of  the  party. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

WHITE   PLAYS   "  SEVING   UP." 

EYNOLDS  spent  the  next  few  days  with  More- 
J.  V  ton,  and,  before  he  was  fully  aware  of  it,  he  had 
accepted  an  invitation  to  dine  at  Mr.  Noble's  house, 
where  he  would  meet  "  two  or  three  charming  friends," 
as  the  banker  had  declared,  "  without  the  least  formality 
in  the  world." 

The  weather  had  taken  a  delightful  change,  the  wind 
shifting  to  the  south  and  bringing  from  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  over  the  vast  extent  of  pine  woods,  a  summer 
balminess  and  pungency.  The  sky,  without  a  cloud, 
blue  and  dreamy  bent  above  the  gray-green  hills  with 
a  Sabbath  purity  that  made  every  aspect  of  the  land- 
scape surrounding  the  little  city  one  of  sweet  guardian- 
ship and  secure  repose,  quite  at  variance  with  certain 
social  conditions  which  rendered  a  considerable  portion 
of  the  city's  populace  at  times  turbulent  and  danger- 
ous. Many  miners  and  operatives  in  the  vast  iron 
works  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  coming  together,  at 
such  hours  as  they  were  unemployed,  in  the  gaudily 
tinseled  liquor  saloons  and  gambling  dens  with  which 
certain  streets  were  liberally  supplied.  Here  they 


WHITE  PLAYS  "  SEVING  UP"  39 

would  meet  the  quiet-mannered  but  impetuous  and 
bellicose  mountaineers,  with  whom  they  quarreled  and 
fought,  sometimes  with  fatal  results. 

On  an  evening  a  day  or  two  prior  to  the  time  set  for 
the  dinner  at  Mr.  Noble's,  Moreton  had  a  little  adven- 
ture. It  chanced  that  some  business  with  a  foreman 
of  one  of  his  iron  establishments  had  kept  him  until 
some  time  after  dark  in  the  office  of  the  latter.  In  going 
back  to  his  hotel  he  took  a  short  route  which  led  him 
through  one  of  the  worst  streets  in  the  city.  Passing 
by  the  brilliantly  lighted  dens  he  could  hear  the  clink 
of  glasses  and  the  boisterous  voices  of  the  drinkers  and 
hangers-on.  Once  or  twice  he  was  forced  to  leave  the 
side-walk  in  order  to  avoid  groups  of  wrangling  fellows 
who  appeared  on  the  point  of  going  into  a  free-for-all 
fight.  It  was  while  making  his  way  around  one  of  these 
clumps  of  would-be  rioters  that  a  voice  of  peculiarly 
familiar  accent  reached  his  ear.  It  was  a  high  tenor, 
drawling  as  follows  : 

"  Hit  air  my  bottom  erpinion  'at  I  ken  whirp  out  the 
last  dad-burned  one  uf  ye,  an'  'en  not  dull  the  p'int  uf 
this  air  ole  frog-sticker  nuther." 

"  Well,  why  don't  ye  do  it  ?  Talk's  talk,  but  doin'  it 
is  another  thing  intirely,"  retorted  a  heavier  voice  with 
just  a  trace  of  Irish  in  it. 

"  Hit  ain't  fur  me  to  go  to  cuttin*  uf  ye,  ef  ye  keeps 
off'n  me ;  but  I'll  jest  be  b'iled  up  an'  chawed  over  ef 
I  don't  let  yer  back  bone  out  in  front  uf  ye,  ef  ye 


40  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

starts  onto  me.  An'  now  ye've  hearn  me,"  was  the  ten- 
or's quick  response. 

Moreton  stopped  short  and  glanced  sharply  into  the 
midst  of  the  group.  There  was  White  with  a  long 
knife  in  one  hand  and  a  heavy  stone  in  the  other,  his 
wizened  face  and  sunken  eyes  full  of  defiance  and  his 
gaunt  frame  rigid  but  ready  for  desperate  action. 

"  Kern  on,  ye  sneakin'  keerd-shufflers,  an'  I'll  jest  cut 
ye  inter  striffins,"  he  continued;  "  this  here  knife  hit  air 
a  eetchin'  fur  yer  livers  an'  lights,  hit  air !  " 

Just  then  a  pistol  gleamed  in  the  hand  of  the  man 
nearest  Moreton,  and  the  clear,  keen  click  of  the  lock 
was  sharply  audible.  It  was  a  slender,  but  very  danger- 
ous sound. 

,  "Make  shore  fire  with  yer  shootin-iron,"  White  added 
quickly,  his  voice  rising  into  a  thin  falsetto,  "  fur  ef  ye 
don't  hit  air  good-by  ter  you,  hit  air  !  "  As  he  spoke 
he  prepared  to  rush  forward. 

On  the  instant  there  would  have  been  deadly  work, 
had  not  Moreton  interfered. 

"Here \  what  does  this  mean?"  he  exclaimed  in  a 
loud,  authoritative  way,  stepping  boldly  into  the  midst 
of  the  men. 

His  commanding  figure,  cool  bearing  and  patrician 
dress  wrought  an  effect  of  which  the  sturdiest  police- 
man might  well  have  been  proud.  "  Come  with  me, 
Mr.  White,"  he  continued,  "and  you  fellows  had  bet- 
ter get  to  your  homes  in  quick  time." 


WHITE  PLAYS  "  SEVING  UP."  41 

He  did  not  pause  or  hesitate,  but  took  White  by  the 
arm  with  a  strong  grip  and  led  him  away.  No  doubt 
the  very  suddenness  and  boldness  of  Moreton's  action 
had  much  to  do  with  the  success  of  his  endeavor  to 
befriend  White,  but  it  is  quite  probable  that  the  respect 
for  superior  manners,  dress  and  personal  appearance, 
which  underlies  the  gross  democracy  of  the  mob,  did 
more.  White  himself  would  have  resented,  with  all  a 
mountaineer's  well-fostered  stubbornness,  any  man's 
interference  with  his  luxury  of  a  fight,  had  that  man 
been,  though  his  best  friend,  one  of  his  own  or  a  simi- 
lar class.  But  he  promptly  recognized  Moreton  as  both 
his  friend  and  superior  and  so  allowed  himself  to  be 
hurried  away,  the  young  man's  grip  on  his  arm  remind- 
ing him  of  a  physical  force  fully  proportioned  to  More-  . 
ton's  rather  massive  stature.  They  soon  reached  a 
street  where  no  further  danger  need  be  feared,  and  here 
Moreton,  releasing  White's  arm,  said  : 

"  What  sort  of  a  beastly  trouble  is  this  you  have 
been  getting  into  ?  What  was  all  that  quarrel  about  ?  " 

"  Pa'cel  o'  them  air  dad  burned  gam'lers  a  rowin'  wi' 
me,"  replied  White,  rather  doggedly,  closing  his  knife 
and  putting  it  into  his  pocket. 

"  Fleeced  you,  I  suppose  ;  won  all  your  money.  Bet- 
ter let  them  alone,  they'll  always  beat  you,"  said  More- 
ton,  his  voice  very  naturally  taking  on  an  advisory  and 
cautionary  ring. 

"  Yer  calc'late  ruther  short,  jest  ther',  Mr.  Moreting 


42  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

(b'lieve  thet  air's  yer  name),  fur  I  hev  four  dollars  uf 
them  same  fellers'  good  money  inter  my  jeens  right 
now,"  White  answered,  with  a  chuckle  of  profound  sat- 
isfaction. "  Wen  ye  serpose  'at  any  uf  them  air  gam'- 
lers  ken  beat  me  a  playin*  uf  seving  up,  w'y  then  ye  air 
a  foolin*  yerself  outdacious.  Es  fur  them  tother  games, 
I  don't  know  much  'bout  'em,  but  seving  up  hit  air  my 
game,  jest  to  a  dot,  an'  I  do  s'prise  some  uf  'em  out- 
dacious a  playin'  uf  that  air  small  game." 

"Are  you  going  out  to  your  home  to-night?" 
inquired  Moreton. 

"  Yes,  an'  I  s'pect  'at  them  air  weemin  '11  be  outda- 
cious oneasy  'bout  me,  too,  fur  I  promersed  'em  'at  I'd 
be  back  by  dinner  time  o'  day,  when  I  left  'em  this 
mornin',"  said  White,  rather  dolefully. 

After  a  moment  of  silence,  he  added  in  a  hesitating 
way: 

"  Hev  ye  seen  any  thing  uf  the  Colonel  fur  the  last 
day  er  two?  We've  been  kinder  sorty  oneasy  'bout 
him,  too.  Milly  she  say  'at  she  most  knows  'at  he  air 
gone  fur  good  an'  'at  he  ain't  a  comin'  back  no  more. 
But  then  I  think  he  air." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Reynolds  is  here  with  me,  don't  you  know, 
at  my  hotel.  He's  all  right,"  said  Moreton.  "  I  hope 
your  wife  and  daughter  are  well.  Please  give  them  my 
regards.  They  were  so  kind  to  me  that  day  I  staid  in 
your  house." 

"Them's    outdacious   good    weemin   o'   mine,  Mr. 


WHITE  PL  A  YS  "  SEVING  UP"  43 

Moreting,  'specially  Milly,  she  air  a  gal  'at's  all  wool  an* 
a  yard  wide,  to  a  dead  sartinty,  she  air,"  was  the  reply. 

Moreton  was  not  well  enough  versed  in  the  mount- 
ain lingo  to  catch  the  full  force  of  White's  realistic 
comparison,  but  he  understood  that  it  was  meant  to 
express  admiration  and  affection  of  a  very  touching 
sort,  and  immediately  there  arose  in  his  mind  a  vision 
of  Milly,  as  she  had  stood  by  the  door  that  day,  with 
one  foot  on  the  other  and  her  solemnly  innocent  face 
half  averted. 

The  two  men  walked  on  together  to  a  point  where 
they  must  separate  if  White  went  home. 

"  I  hev  ter  go  down  this  here  street  ef  I  want  er  git 
ter  my  lay-out,"  said  the  mountaineer,  stopping.  "  I 
er  much  erbleeged  to  ye  fur  what  ye've  done." 

Prompted  by  some  impulse  quite  foreign  to  his  En- 
glish nature,  Moreton  held  out  his  hand  and  said: 

"  Don't  forget  to  give  my  kindest  regards  to  your 
wife  and  daughter." 

"  Sarting,  sarting,"  exclaimed  White,  "  I'll  do  thet 
air."  He  took  Moreton's  hand  with  a  hearty  grasp, 
but  stood  as  if  faltering  and  hesitating.  "  Hit  air  kinder 
foolish,  but  I  wanter  ask  ye  ter  see  ef  ye  can't  git  the 
Colonel  to  kem  home  poorty  soon.  Sorter  seems  like 
things  don't  June  roun*  jest  right  ef  he  ain't  ther'." 
Somewhere  between  his  words  there  was  a  half-ex- 
pressed meaning  that  seemed  to  reach  and  yet  baffle 
and  elude  Moreton's  understanding.  "Ye  needn'  mind 


44  AT  LO VE 'S  EXTREMES. 

er  sayin'  'at  ther's  trouble  'bout  'im  er  nothin',"  con- 
tinued White,  "but  jest  kinder  git  'im  ter  kem  home 
like.  Milly  she  hain't  stout,  no  how."  There  was  a 
tender  tremor  in  his  voice  as  he  spoke  the  concluding 
words. 

Moreton  assured  him  that  Reynolds  would  come 
home  within  a  few  days,  and  they  parted. 

White  had  been  drinking  some,  but  not  enough  to 
intoxicate  him  beyond  a  certain  loosening  of  the  tongue 
and  a  breaking  of  that  crust  of  half-comical  reserve 
which  usually  covers  the  Sand  Mountain  man.  What 
he  had  said  had  affected  Moreton  peculiarly.  As  he 
slowly  walked  to  the  hotel  "  Milly  she  hain't  stout,  no 
how,"  kept  ringing  in  the  young  man's  mind,  as  some 
verse  of  a  foolish  song  might  have  done,  with  an  appeal- 
ing, shadowy  sort  of  sadness  in  it.  He  was  far  from 
being  sentimental,  he  had  never  taken  any  interest  in 
people  socially  much  lower  than  himself,  he  had  even 
been  suspected  of  mild  brutality  in  his  feelings  towards 
women  of  the  lower  classes,  not  because  the  brutality 
did  really  exist,  but  on  account  of  his  utter  lack  of 
sympathy  with  ignorance  and  ugliness  ;  and  now  he  was 
frankly  acknowledging  to  himself  that  Milly  White  had 
touched  a  very  sensitive  chord  in  his  nature.  In  some 
mysterious  way  he  was  actually  sympathizing  with  her, 
as  if  in  an  elusive  and  nameless  trouble.  The  feeling 
was  not  a  deep  or  pervading  one  :  it  was,  indeed,  very 
slight,  a  mere  breath,  so  to  speak,  barely  rippling  the 


WHITE  PLAYS  "  SEVING  UP."  45 

surface  of  his  consciousness,  but  it  was  so  new  and  unique 
that  it  made  itself  distinctly  and  immediately  sep- 
arable in  quality  from  all  his  past  experiences.  If  the 
question  had  been  put  to  him :  Why  do  you  think  of 
Milly  White — what  is  the  basis  of  your  interest  in  her? 
He  would  have  answered  :  I  have  no  interest  in  her — 
I  think  of  her  simply  because  her  strangely  sweet  and 
yearning  face  stays  in  my  memory  and  will  not  be  cast 
out :  there  was  an  appeal  in  her  eyes  so  mysteriously 
affecting. 

White  went  afoot  over  the  hills  to  his  home,  follow- 
ing the  meanderings  of  a  narrow,  rugged  road.  He 
was  not  happy,  though  he  sang  nasal  snatches  of  camp- 
meeting  or  revival  songs  as  he  trudged  along.  He  had 
a  sense  of  the  unworthiness  of  his  day's  occupation  that 
the  jingle  of  the  four  dollars  in  his  pocket  could  not 
neutralize.  When  he  reached  the  rude  gate  in  front 
of  his  cabin  he  encountered  Milly.  She  was  leaning 
against  one  of  the  low  posts,  her  head  bare  and  her 
face  showing  over-pale  in  the  star-light. 

"  Hello,  Milly!  "  he  gently  exclaimed.  "  Hain't  ye 
gone  ter  bed  yet  ?" 

She  unlatched  the  gate  for  him  without  speaking. 
He  passed  through  and  took  her  by  the  arm. 

"  He  air  down  yer  in  town,  Milly,  down  yer  wi'  the 
man  'at  stopped  in  outen  the  rain  thet  air  day,"  he 
almost  whispered.  "  He  air  all  right ;  he  air  comin' 
home  to-morrer  er  nex'  day." 


46  AT  LO VE 'S  EXTREMES. 

"  I  wush  he  would  come,"  she  murmured,  and  fol- 
lowed her  father  into  the  cabin. 

Meantime  Moreton  went  to  his  hotel,  where  he  met 
Reynolds,  to  whom  he  gave  the  details  of  his  street 
adventure. 

Reynolds'  face  darkened  a  little. 

"  I  wish  I  could  have  seen  White,"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
that  hinted  of  vexation.  "  I  suspect  that  he  has  taken 
advantage  of  my  absence  by  going  on  a  spree.  Are 
you  sure  he  went  directly  home  ?  " 

"  He  said  he  was  going,  he  went  in  that  direction," 
Moreton  answered.  "  He  was  inquiring  about  you, 
and  I  told  him  you  were  in  my  care  and  quite 
safe." 

Reynolds  laughed. 

"  Did  he  say  that  his  weemin,  as  he  calls  them,  were 
uneasy  about  me  ?  " 

"  Something  of  the  sort,  I  believe,  but  I  gave  him 
satisfactory  assurance.  He'll  report  you  all  right." 

Reynolds  laughed  again,  a  laugh  that  left  Moreton 
in  some  sort  of  doubt.  It  was  a  laugh  that  seemed  to 
be  tinged  with  contempt,  or  bitterness,  or  some  other 
element  quite  foreign  to  any  amused  or  pleasant  state 
of  mind. 

"  He  told  me  in  all  seriousness,"  Moreton  deliber- 
ately but  lightly  added,  "  that  his  daughter  believed 
you  would  never  come  back." 

"  Yes,"  said  Reynolds,  "  she  always  imagines  some 


WHITE  PLAYS  "  SEVING  UP."  47 

such  thing  when  I  am  away.  She's  a  queer  little  sim- 
pleton, but  I  owe  a  good  deal  to  her  and  her  mother. 
On  that  account  I  overlook  a  great  many  little  annoy- 
ances they  cause  me." 

They  went  in  to  supper  and  the  conversation  turned 
to  a  discussion  of  the  preparations  for  General  DeKay's 
shooting  party.  But  all  the  time  Moreton's  mind  kept 
returning  to  the  mystery  which  he  now  felt  was  hover- 
ing about  his  friend's  life,  a  mystery  he  dared  not 
attempt  to  solve.  It  was  plain  to  him  that  Reynolds 
had  a  secret  which  this  lonely  life  in  the  mountains  was 
intended  to  hide  from  the  world.  It  is  not  difficult  to 
discover  that  one's  friend  is  not  opening  his  whole  heart 
to  one,  when  such  is  the  fact.  The  reserve  of  some 
heavy  sorrow,  or  regret,  or  remorse  may  be  carefully 
concealed,  but  its  very  concealment  is  disclosed  by  the 
sealed  chamber  whose  door  w"ould,  we  know,  be  flung 
wide  open,  but  for  the  skeleton  within.  A  slight  eva- 
sion, now  and  then,  of  certain  careless  questions,  little 
hints  inadvertently  let  fall  in  moments  of  apparent 
abstraction,  certain  abrupt  changes  of  the  drift  of  his 
talk  when  the  subject  was  his  own  experiences,  gave 
to  Reynolds'  conversation  a  quality  which,  to  a  nature 
like  Moreton's,  was  as  tantalizing  as  it  was  suggestive 
of  some  hidden  trouble. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SOME   LIGHT  TALK. 

MR.  NOBLE'S  house  in  Birmingham  was  one  of 
our  ugly  brick-red  American  cottages,  with 
many  sharp  points  to  its  roof,  many  slender  chimneys, 
a  profusion  of  bay  windows  and  plate  glass,  and  an  air 
of  band-box  newness,  suggestive  of  fresh  paint  and 
scarcely  dry  plastering.  It  stood  on  a  slight  knoll 
overlooking  a  quiet  part  of  the  little  city,  and  com- 
manding a  view  of  the  mountains  in  every  direction, 
as  well  as  of  the  broken  picturesque  valley.  Its  ample 
lawn,  shaded  by  a  few  native  trees,  had  been  set  with 
grass,  as  if  in  defiance  of  Southern  custom,  and  the 
broad  walks  were  not  flanked  with  the  conventional 
parallel  rows  of  shrubs  and  flowers  so  dear  to  the 
heart  of  the  old-time  Southerner. 

As  Moreton  and  Reynolds  passed  through  the  low 
iron  gate  in  front  of  this  house,  on  the  evening  of  Mr. 
Noble's  dinner,  they  paused  just  inside  the  inclosure, 
and  turned  about  to  take  a  view  of  the  surrounding 
landscape.  The  horizon  in  every  direction  was  broken 
by  irregular  lines  of  blue  hills  and  mountains,  the 
higher  peaks  sharply  defined  against  a  soft  crepuscular 


SOME  LIGHT  TALK.  49 

sky,  whilst  the  lower  ones,  seen  through  the  thin  gray 
smoke  of  the  valley,  were  scarcely  distinguishable 
from  the  fragmentary  clouds  floating  lazily  in  the 
furthest  distance.  A  gentle  breeze,  running  north- 
ward, with  just  an  audible  ripple,  had  in  it,  along  with 
its  mountain  freshness  and  purity,  a  dreamy,  languor- 
breeding  influence,  suggestive  of  those  palm-studded 
islands  and  warm  seas  a  little  further  south.  Overhead 
the  sky  was  as  blue  and  soft  as  that  of  Lombardy, 
and  set  with  fervid,  flaring  stars. 

"This  strikes  me  as  very  near  the  ideal  climate, 
don't  you  know,  a  golden  mean  between  the  indolent, 
dreamy  South  and  the  restless,  over-realistic  North," 
said  Moreton,  taking  in  a  deep  draught  of  the  sweet, 
stimulating  air. 

"  The  air  is  pure  and  wholesome,"  said  Reynolds, 
"  but  the  scenery  is  hopelessly  monotonous  and  unin- 
spiring. Six  years  of  it  will  dry  your  enthusiasm 
down  to  the  impalpable  dust  of  dreams.  I  fear  I  have 
had  too  much  of  it." 

"  No  doubt  you  have,"  Moreton  bluntly  responded, 
"  considering  your  way  of  taking  it,  crooning  over 
there  in  that  remote  cabin,  aloof  from  every  genuine 
human  influence,  morbidly  browsing  the  weeds  of  your 
own  conscience."  His  tone  was  light  and  charring,  but 
Reynolds,  as  if  cut  by  some  hidden  meaning  of  the 
words,  started  a  little,  then,  catching  his  friend's 
humor,  said : 


SO  AT  LO  VE  'S  EXTREMES. 

"  Well,  let's  go  into  this  palace  of  pleasure  and  per- 
haps I  may  there  get  my  conscience  purified  in  the 
light  of  — " 

"  The  light  of  her  eyes 
And  the  dew  of  her  lips, 
Where  the  moth  never  flies 
And  the  bee  never  sips," — 

Moreton  hummed,  taking  his  friend's  arm  and  moving 
toward  the  house.  The  windows  gave  forth  long 
streams  of  light,  and  a  subdued  sound  of  voices  came 
from  within  the  brilliant  rooms.  To  the  somewhat 
rusted  taste  of  Reynolds  there  came,  along  with  the 
gleam  of  chandeliers  and  the  polite  murmur,  a  little 
thrill,  as  if  he  were  about  to  re-enter  a  long-abandoned 
but  much  loved  atmosphere.  Already  the  old  fascina- 
tion was  returning.  He  saw  through  an  open  window 
the  flutter  of  fans  and  the  gleam  of  white  throats, 
laces  and  pearls.  For  a  single  instant  all  the  charms 
of  young  womanhood  gayly  but  modestly  attired, 
ready  for  its  half-shy,  half-daring  little  assaults  upon 
the  masculine  heart,  burst  upon  him.  As  a  drunkard, 
after  a  long  abstinence,  feels  his  whole  nature  change 
at  the  first  sip  of  wine,  Reynolds  was  at  once  borne  off 
his  guard,  and  for  the  instant  all  the  period  of  his 
mountain  seclusion  disappeared.  It  was  as  if  his  gay, 
almost  dissolute  life  had  never  been  arrested.  Some 
one  struck  a  few  rapid  chords  from  a  grand  piano  and 
then  followed  some  airy  popular  song. 


SOME  LIGHT  TALK.  51 

"  Why  the  house  is  full,"  said  Moreton  in  an  under- 
tone, as  they  mounted  the  broad  steps  to  the  hall  door. 
"  Mr.  Noble  has  exceedingly  liberal  views  on  the  sub- 
ject of  '  a  few  friends.'  We  are  going  to  see  the  elite 
of  Montgomery  as  well  as  the  ban  ton  of  Birmingham, 
if  I  guess  correctly." 

Reynolds  made  no  response.  He  paused  on  the 
threshold  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  a  faltering  atti- 
tude. But  for  the  presence  of  Moreton,  he  would 
have  turned  away  and  retraced  his  steps  to  the  hotel, 
or,  more  likely,  to  his  cabin  in  the  mountains.  One 
who  for  years  has  been  entirely  beyond  the  outmost 
pale  of  polite  society,  is  apt  to  feel  this  trepidation, 
when  on  the  point  of  re-entering  the  charmed  circle. 

The  company  was  not  so  large  as  Moreton  had  imag- 
ined. The  evening  was  warm  enough  to  admit  of  open 
windows,  hence  the  sound  of  voices  had  the  more  easily 
reached  the  outside.  Fifteen  or  twenty  persons,  mostly 
young,  were  scattered  throughout  a  row  of  elaborate 
rooms,  now  made  into  one  by  means  of  folding  doors 
and  movable  curtains.  Mr,  Noble,  if  possible  more 
supple  and  elastic  than  ever  before,  and  Mrs.  Noble,  a 
tall  woman,  dressed  in  elegant  taste,  greeted  Moreton 
and  Reynolds  with  admirable  ease  and  cordiality.  The 
company  was  so  small  that  the  arrival  of  two  new 
guests  was  at  once  known  to  all.  Moreton  glanced 
about,  seeing  many  faces  that  he  knew,  but  Reynolds 
felt  himself  a  stranger  to  all.  His  tall,  erect  figure, 


5*  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

bronzed  face  and  graceful  bearing  attracted  the  furtive 
glances  of  more  than  one  woman  present.  Moreton,  in 
bowing  low  over  Mrs.  Noble's  hand,  had  managed  to 
say  to  her  unheard  by  any  one  else  :  "  Mr.  Reynolds, 
my  friend  here,  is  a  misanthrope  and  has  long  been  out 
of  society.  You  will  do  me  the  greatest  of  favors  if 
you  will  make  him  the  especial  object  of  your  gracious 
attention  this  evening." 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered,  in  a  very  sweet  and  low 
voice,  "  you  shall  see  how  readily  I  grant  your  every 
request,  Mr.  Moreton.  Leave  your  friend  to  me." 

She  kept  her  promise  with  scrupulous  fidelity,  and 
Reynolds  found  himself  drawn  into  the  midst  of  a 
charming  circle,  where,  for  a  time,  all  memory  of  the  past 
few  years  was  drowned  in  the  music  of  gentle  voices. 

Miss  Cordelia  Noble,  the  banker's  daughter,  with 
whom  he  presently  found  himself  in  conversation,  was  a 
merry-eyed,  ruby-lipped  blonde,  as  supple  and  ready  as 
her  father  and  at  need  as  dignified  and  gracious  as  her 
mother.  She  had  just  returned  with  her  aunt  from 
New  York  and  talked  in  a  most  charming  way  of  the 
opening  of  the  social  season  there,  of  the  parties,  the 
opera,  the  art  exhibitions  and  all  the  other  features  of 
importance  to  fashionable  folk  in  the  metropolis.  Her 
voice  was  a  sincere,  honest,  girlish  one,  and  her  sayings 
were  spiced  with  those  little  grotesqueries  of  thought 
and  phrasing  which  stay  with  a  bright  girl  for  a  while 
after  her  so-called  school  days  are  over.  Reynolds  had 


SOME  LIGHT  TALK.  53 

not  dreamed  of  how  hungry  he  really  was  for  even  this 
slight  sort  of  social  food,  and  it  was  well  for  him  that 
he  did  not  suspect  that,  before  the  dinner  was  half  over, 
he  had  become,  by  force  of  tacit  consent  amongst  all 
present,  the  center  of  the  evening's  interest. 

Moreton  was  delighted.  He  had  determined  to  win 
his  friend  back  from  his  hermit's  life,  no  matter  what 
might  have  been  in  the  first  place  the  secret  reason  for 
his  retirement  to  such  an  outlandish  den  as  the  mount- 
aineer's cabin. 

"  My  father  has  told  me  that  you  are  to  be  one  of 
the  party  going  with  him  to  General  DeKay's,"  Miss 
Noble  said  to  Reynolds. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  expect  a  most  delight- 
ful time.  I  hope  you  are  going  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  could  not  afford  to  let  such  an  opportunity 
pass.  I  have  always  greatly  desired  to  see  something 
of  field  sports.  I  dote  on  dogs,  and  I  really  believe  I 
should  like  to  shoot,  and  ride  after  the  hounds  in  a  real 
fox-chase." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  going,"  he  said.  "  Your  enthu- 
siasm will  be  a  great  help  when  birds  are  scarce  or  when 
we  shoot  poorly.  Will  there  be  other  ladies?" 

"  Oh,  quite  a  number,  I  dare  say.  There  will  be  one, 
at  least,  the  dearest,  charmingest  woman  that  ever 
lived.  Mrs.  Ransom,  a  widow,  but  lovely,  fascinating, 
every  thing,  indeed,  that's  sweet  and  interesting.  She 
was  married  only  a  few  months  when  her  husband  died 


54  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

— he  was  killed  in  a  duel  or  something  romantic,  several 
years  ago — and  she  looks  like  a  mere  girlnow." 

Miss  Noble  was  looking  directly  into  Reynolds'  face, 
as  she  delivered  this  girlish  speech,  and  she  saw  some- 
thing like  a  shadow  flit  across  his  brow  and  eyes,  as  if 
her  words  had  caused  him  annoyance,  but  it  passed 
away  instantly. 

"  If  you  really  are  fond  of  dogs,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  be 
proud  to  show  you  mine.  I  fancy  I  have  two  that  can 
not  be  matched  in  the  whole  world." 

"What  sort  are  they?"  she  inquired  with  immediate 
interest.  "  You  see  my  father  has  made  me  quite  a 
connoisseur ;  I  am  away  up  in  dog-knowledge."  She 
held  up  a  little  plump  hand  to  show  how  high  her 
attainments  soared. 

"  Are  they  pointers,  setters  or  droppers  ?  " 

Reynolds  laughed.  Her  outright  earnestness  of 
interest  in  such  a  subject  amused  him,  whilst  it  also 
made  him  feel  justified  in  pursuing  the  theme,  always  a 
pleasant  one  to  a  genuine  sportsman. 

"  One  is  a  pointer,  the  other  a  setter,"  he  answered. 

"And  do  they  work  well  together?  Do  they  under- 
stand each  other's  movements,  back  each  other,  and  all 
that?"  she  inquired. 

"  In  the  most  perfect  way  imaginable.  They  are 
like  perfectly  drilled  soldiers,  their  minds  seem  to  keep 
pace  exactly." 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  the  most  beautiful  sight !     I  know  it 


SOME  LIGHT  TALK.  55 

must  be.  My  father  has  described  it  to  me  so  often 
and  I  am  so  anxious  to  see  something  of  it.  I  don't 
know  why  I  shouldn't,  do  you  ?  Mamma  rather 
objects — talks  of  cruelty  to  birds,  and  sneers  in  her 
sweet  way,  at  the  idea  of  a  young  lady  caring  for 
field  sports.  Do  you  see  any  wrong  in  it  ?  I  really 
think  I  should  like  to  have  a  gun." 

"  When  I  was  in  India  I  saw  a  young  lady  shoot 
at  a  tiger,"  said  Reynolds,  "  but  she  missed  it." 

"  And  ever  since  you  have  kept  the  incident  in 
mind  as  proof  positive  of  the  modern  woman's  ineffi- 
ciency in  the  field  of  Diana,"  she  quickly  replied. 

"  Not  altogether,"  he  said ;  "  Diana's  field  was  so 
broad."  But  Miss  Noble  was  not  scholar  enough  to 
feel  the  point  of  his  meaning.  She  was  ready  enough, 
however,  and  responded : 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  whole  blue  heaven  to  sail  across ;  I  had 
forgotten  that  her  glory,  after  all,  was  mostly  moon- 
shine." 

"  We  poor  men  have  been  unable  to  forget  it  since 
the  dreadful  fate  of  Acteon  and  the  drowsy  experi- 
ence of  Endymion ;  but  if  you  will  promise  not  to 
turn  the  weapon  against  me  I  shall  be  glad  to  let 
you  try  a  beautiful  little  English  twenty-gauge  gun  of 
mine  when  we  find  the  game." 

"  How  good  of  you,"  she  exclaimed  delightedly;  "  it 
will  be  charming.  Don't  tell  mamma,  she  would  ridi- 
cule me  out  of  it." 


56  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

"  Never ;  I  shall  die  with  the  secret,  if  need  be.  I 
would  not  miss  seeing  you  fire  your  first  shot  for  any 
thing." 

"  Now  there,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  can't  quite  be 
fair;  there  was  something  in  your  voice  that  sug- 
gested a  lack  of  confidence  in  my  nerve  and  ability. 
I  shan't  shut  my  eyes  and  dodge  and — and — squeak." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Reyaolds,  "I  shall  expect 
nothing  of  the  kind.  You  will  kill  your  bird  hand- 
somely, and  I  shall  applaud  you  and  give  you  encore 
and " 

"  If  you  are  going  to  make  fun  of  me,  I  shall  stay  at 
home,"  she  exclaimed  with  spirit.  "  I'm  in  earnest.  I 
really  wish  to  know  how  to  shoot." 

Reynolds'  eyes  involuntarily  ran  over  the  outlines  of 
the  girl's  fine  form  and  rested  for  a  moment  on  her  ani- 
mated face.  She  was  indeed  in  earnest,  and  she  looked 
a  perfect  model  for '  a  Diana,  so  far  as  strength  and 
symmetry  went.  True  her  bright,  vivacious  American 
face  had  nothing  of  the  straight-cut  Grecian  severity  of 
beauty,  but  it  was  a  brave,  self-reliant,  earnest  face, 
tinged  with  healthy  blood  and  beaming  with  the  spirit 
of  girlish  enterprise.  It  needed  but  a  look  into  her  eyes 
for  one  to  know  that  she  was  as  pure  as  a  violet,  with  the 
charm  of  an  infinite  capacity  for  love  hovering  like  a 
separate  atmosphere  about  her.  She  was  a  woman  in 
nothing  but  physique.  Girlhood  of  the  freshest  and 
charmingest  sort  was  apparent  in  all  that  she  said  and 


SOME  LIGHT  TALK.  57 

did.  Reynolds  felt  her  sweet,  breeze-like  influence 
pass  over  him  with  the  effect  of  a  rare  fragrance.  He 
gave  himself  up  wholly  to  her  mood.  It  was  like 
romping  in  a  furtive  way,  this  light,  free  prattle  with 
one  so  young,  so  frank,  so  childlike  and  so  beautiful. 

"  Why,  if  you  wish  to  shoot  you  shall,"  he  said  with 
smiling  earnestness.  "  I  should  be  glad  to  show  you 
how.  It's  quite  easy  to  learn.  There's  nothing  diffi- 
cult or  objectionable  in  it." 

"  Oh,  do  you  really  mean  it  ?  Do  you  think  it 
quite proper?  I  never  could  see  any  real  impropri- 
ety, and  somehow  I  have  fancied  that  I  have  a  genuine 
passion  for  it.  Perhaps  I  shall  not  like  it  after  I  have 
tried  it — but,  yes  I  shall,  I  know  I  shall.  Don't  you 
think  so?" 

She  had  a  way  of  opening  her  eyes  wide,  as  a  child 
does,  when  asking  a  question,  and  she  looked  straight 
into  his  with  a  simple  fearlessness  that  was  far  removed 
from  boldness. 

"  I  think  you  would  like  any  thing  that — that — you 
ought  to  like,"  he  said. 

"  I  do  not  like  that,"  she  replied  naively  ;  "it  has  the 
ring  of  flattery.  Why  do  men  always  do  that  ?  Do 
they  think  we  like  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  do,"  he  responded,  laughing  and 
opening  his  eyes  a  little  wider  in  turn.  "  I  really  didn't 
mean  flattery,  however :  I  meant  to  say  that  you  are 
constituted  to  enjoy  real,  rational  pastimes  and  recrea- 


58  AT  LO VE 'S  EXTREMES. 

tions,  that  you  have  healthy,  natural  tastes.  That  is  not 
flattery,  I  hope." 

"  You  put  it  in  the  least  objectionable  shape,  to  say 
the  least,"  she  replied,  "  and  I  am  willing  to  compro- 
mise, remembering  your  promise  about  the  gun.  I 
have  an  ambition  that  I  will  confide  to  you."  She 
leaned  toward  him  a  little  and  added  :  "  When  I  go  to 
Newport  next  summer  I  want  to  be  able  to  tell  my 
friends  about  shooting  quails  in  Alabama.  It  will  be 
so  much  better  than  their  poor  mockery  of  fox-chasing 
—that's  absurd." 

"Ah, I  begin  to  understand,"  said  Reynolds.  "You 
may  count  on  me  to  aid  you  in  every  possible  way. 
You  shall  have  most  interesting  and  realistic  experi- 
ences to  relate  at  the  seaside,  if  you  will  let  me  be  your 
guide  and  teacher.  I  beg  to  be  your  abettor-in-chief." 

Mrs.  Noble  and  Moreton  approached,  just  at  this 
point,  and  the  subject  was  dropped.  In  fact  Moreton 
at  once  drew  Miss  Cordelia  away  to  some  other  part  of 
the  house,  and  managed  to  be  near  her  for  the  rest  of 
the  evening.  But  the  girl  left  with  Reynolds  some- 
thing that  lingered,  diffusing  itself  throughout  his  con- 
sciousness, with  the  effect  of  a  mildly  exhilarating 
potion.  Strangely  enough,  the  words  of  Moreton's 
little  song : 

"  The  light  of  her  eyes 
And  the  dew  of  her  lips, 
Where  the  moth  never  flies 
And  the  bee  never  sips," 


SOME  LIGHT  TALK.  59 

had  all  the  evening  been  tinkling  in  his  ears.  Not  that 
Miss  Noble  had  troubled  him  in  the  least  with  any 
thing  like  love  at  first  sight.  She  was  not  a  girl  for 
him  to  fall  in  love  with  ;  but  her  gentle,  earnest  voice, 
her  grace  of  person  and  manner,  and  her  half-girlish, 
half-womanly  independence  of  speech  had  touched  him 
and  quickened  in  him  germs  of  sympathy  he  had 
thought  long  since  dead.  He  felt  old  dry  wells  of  feel- 
ing bubbling  afresh.  He  was  gently  moved  as  if  by  a 
subtle  change  within  him.  Mrs.  Noble  found  him 
with  this  mood  upon  him,  and  it  lent  to  his  talk  its 
freshness  and  fascination.  She  was  charmed,  and  when 
she  was  told  that  for  the  past  six  years  he  had  scarcely 
left  the  cabin  over  in  the  mountains,  the  touch  of  mys- 
tery did  not  lessen  her  interest  in  him. 

Moreton,  without  thought  of  what  sympathy  he  might 
arouse  by  his  peculiarly  graphic  manner  of  presenting 
the  subject,  described  to  Miss  Cordelia  the  wild, 
strange  prettiness  of  Milly  White  and  the  pathetic 
ignorance  in  which  her  whole  nature  seemed  steeped. 

"Why,  how  romantic!"  she  exclaimed,  "she  must 
be  interesting.  She  ought  to  be  taught.  There  may 
be  something  well  worth  developing  behind  those 
wonderful,  mysterious  eyes  of  that  girl." 

Cordelia's  school  days  were  not  yet  so  far  in  the  past 
that  she  had  got  rid  of  certain  academical  theories. 
She  still  reveled  in  the  belief  that  education  might 
make  a  king  of  a  forg,  * 


60  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

"  If  she  could  be  taught,"  said  Moreton,  in  a  reflect- 
ive way ;  "  but  I  suppose  such  a  thing  is  impossible. 
She  comes  of  such  vulgar  ancestry,  ignorance  and  stu- 
pidity are  her  heritage,  don't  you  know,  and  she  prob- 
ably has  no  capacity.  Her  limitations  are  set  and 
nothing  can  broaden  them,  I  fear.  But  her  beauty,  if 
it  may  be  called  by  that  name,  is  certainly  remarkable. 
I  have  never  seen  a  more  perfect  form — petite,  lithe  as 
a  leopard's  and  as  graceful  as  a  fawn's,  and  her  face  has 
something  in  it  so  appealingly  and  so  hopelessly  sweet 
and  pure.  But  then  such  vacancy,  such  hideous 
ignorance." 

Cordelia  grew  interested.  Her  vivid  imagination 
took  quick  and  strong  hold  on  his  sketch  of  this  mount- 
ain girl,  filling  in  with  its  own  lines  and  coloring  the 
spaces  he  had  left. 

"Why  hasn't  Mr.  Reynolds  taught  her?"  she 
exclaimed,  with  just  a  trace  of  deprecation  in  her 
voice.  "He  has  been  over  there  so  long,  living  in  the 
same  house.  It's  a  shame  that  he  has  not  directed 

her  mind  so  as  to  awaken  some "  she  stopped 

short  and  a  little  color  flushed  her  cheeks. 

"  Oh,  Reynolds  sees  nothing  of  her  fine  points," 
Moreton  hastened  to  say  without  choice  of  words. 
"  He's  a  Southerner,  don't  you  know,  and  considers  her 
poor  white  trash — that's  the  phrase  here.  He  thinks  it 
absurd  that  a  gentleman  should  look  at  such  a  girl 
long  enough  to  form  any  opinion  as  to  the  question  of 
her  beauty." 


SOME  LIGHT  TALK.  6 1 

The  conversation  was  broken  in  upon  and  ended  at 
this  point  by  some  trivial  turn  of  the  evening's  hap- 
penings, and  soon  after  Reynolds  and  Moreton  took 
their  leave. 

They  walked  toward  the  hotel,  each  silently  revolving 
in  his  mind  that  part  of  his  experience  at  the  banker's 
house  which  had  chanced  to  most  deeply  impress  him. 
Reynolds,  in  fact,  was  scarcely  conscious  of  his  compan- 
ion's presence,  so  full  was  he  of  many  other  indetermi- 
nate but  wholly  pleasing  plans  for  making  Miss  Noble 
happy  with  his  dogs  and  gun  when  they  should  meet 
at  General  DeKay's  plantation.  Moreton  had  lighted 
a  cigarette  and  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes. 

"  This  girl  of  White's — how  old  is  she,  Reynolds  ?  " 
he  presently  inquired,  in  a  tone  so  abrupt  that  his  com- 
panion looked  up  as  if  startled.  "  She's  scarcely  a 
woman  yet,  is  she  ?  " 

Reynolds  did  not  answer  promptly,  but  kept  his 
eyes  on  Moreton's  face  while  they  walked  two  or  three 
paces. 

"  Oh,  the  devil,  what  do  I  know  or  car*  about  her  ?  " 
he  at  length  said.  "You'd  better  r^o  out  and  inter- 

o  «-> 

view  her.  She  seems  to  have  tangled  your  fancy." 
The  words  look  brutal,  but  his  vo.'ce  and  manner  were 
merely  indifferent  and  light,  with  a  touch  of  good- 
humored  raillery. 

"She  does  stay  in  my  head  somehow,"  Moreton 
frankly  replied.  "  And  I  confess  that  it  amazes  me 


62  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

to  know  that  you  have  never  discovered  what  deuced 
physical  perfection  she  has.  You  needn't  try  to  make 
me  believe  in  your  obtuseness,  however  ;  I  know  you 
too  well,  don't  you  know." 

Reynolds  laughed,  and  laying  his  hand  on  More- 
ton's  arm,  said : 

"  You  have  happened  to  see  her  at  some  exceptional 
angle  and  with  an  artist's  eye.  Poor  little  thing,  it  is 
a  small  measure  that  fills  her  life.  Hers  is  a  hopeless 
lot.  Let's  choose  a  better  subject.  Now  there's  Miss 
Noble." 

Moreton  did  not  respond  promptly,  but  looked 
rather  searchingly  at  his  friend.  He  almost  resented 
the  democratic  freedom  that  linked  so  readily  and  inti- 
mately the  names  of  Milly  White  and  Cordelia  Noble. 
Presently  he  said  : 

"  Miss  Noble  is  an  exceptional  American  girl.  She 
has  all  the  naivet6  and  freshness  of  the  country  with- 
out any  trace  of  its  deuced  vulgarity." 

"Your  long  residence  of  two  months  in  this  great 
country  fully  equips  you  for  criticism,"  replied  Reynolds 
with  mock  gravity. 

"  I  have  lived  a  thousand  years  in  America,"  was 
Moreton's  response.  "  Every  hour  has  been  a  decade. 
I  never  felt  a  genuine  sentiment  before  I  came  here. 
You  must  pardon  me  if  I  arrogate  to  myself  the  right 
to  speak  patronizingly  to  one  who  has  only  been  here 
thirty  or  thirty-five  years.". 


SOME  LIGHT  TALK.  63 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  Reynolds.  "  The  same  old  story. 
Another  sweetheart.  You  had  four  in  Paris,  three  in 
Rome,  two  in  Geneva,  two  in 

"  Oh,  come  now,  none  of  that,"  Moreton  exclaimed 
with  an  impatient  gesture.  "  For  once  and  forever  I 
am  in  earnest,  don't  you  know.  I  mean  to  marry  Miss 
Noble." 

"  I  am  heartily  glad  of  it,"  said  Reynolds,  grasping 
his  friend's  hand.  "  I  cordially  congratulate  you,  More- 
ton.  What  a  sweet,  bright,  perfectly  natural  girl  she 
is  !  I  honor  you  all  the  more  for  your  choice." 

As  they  walked  on  to  the  hotel,  Reynolds  was  think- 
ing what  a  fair  outcome  this  marriage  would  be  to 
Moreton's  rather  adventuresome  bachelor  career.  He 
did  not  dare  figure  for  himself  any  thing  so  happy, 
but  his  imagination  was  full  of  floating,  rosy  fantasies, 
formless  as  yet,  but  ready  to  take  almost  any  shape  of 
beauty,  grace  or  passion.  He  felt  a  quicker  movement 
of  his  blood,  he  breathed  deeper,  a  wider  horizon  seemed 
open  to  him  all  at  once.  He  dared  not  try  to  analyze 
his  state  of  feeling,  lest  the  test  should  dissipate  it. 
Like  some  mere  stripling  just  fallen  in  love,  he  heard 
all  through  his  dreams  that  night  a  sweet,  strange  voice 
singing  that  light  stanza  of  Moreton's  song : 

"  The  light  of  her  eyes 
And  the  dew  of  her  lips, 
Where  the  moth  never  flies 
And  the  bee  never  sips." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AT  THE  GATE. 

T)  EYNOLDS  started  to  go  on  foot  to  White's  cabin 
_l  V  among  the  mountains.  His  immediate  purpose 
was  to  arrange  for  sending  his  dogs  down  to  Birming- 
ham in  a  few  days,  in  order  that  they  might  be  ready 
for  the  trip  to  General  DeKay's.  He  was  glad  of  this 
excuse  for  getting  away  for  a  time  from  the  town,  out 
into  the  woods,  where  he  might  try  to  understand  him- 
self ;  for  he  was  in  a  mood  very  different  from  any  he 
had  experienced  in  the  last  six  years,  and  in  fact  very 
different  from  any  he  ever  before  had  realized.  Since  the 
evening  of  Mr.  Noble's  dinner  a  change  had  been  going 
on  within  him.  It  was  as  if  some  reservoir  of  feeling, 
hitherto  sealed  up,  had  been  tapped,  from  which  a  rare 
sensation  had  diffused  itself  throughout  his  being, 
.mildly  thrilling  his  nerves  and  vaguely  firing  his  blood. 
He  could  trace  this  change  to  no  definite  source,  nor 
could  he  be  sure  whether  it  tended  toward  some  new 
and  brighter  phase  of  his  variable  life,  or  toward  some 
lurking  evil.  He  felt  the  pressure  of  a  doubtful  pre- 
sentiment, as  all  strongly  imaginative  natures  at  times 
do,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  vivid  sense  of  pleasure  there 
hovered  a  dim  shadow  of  dread. 


AT  THE  GATE.  65 

It  was  in  the  twilight  following  an  unusually  warm 
day,  that  he  turned  aside  from  the  highway  to  follow  a 
trail  leading  over  a  spur  of  the  mountain  on  the  further 
side  of  which  stood  White's  cabin.  The  stars  were 
already  coming  out  in  the  soft,  southern  sky,  and  a 
slender  moon  hung  half-way  down  the  west.  The  air 
was  fragrant  with  the  keen  essence  of  resin  and  the 
balsam  of  pine  leaves,  but  there  was  scarcely  more  than 
a  mere  breath  astir  among  the  frondous  groves.  He 
walked  rapidly,  unconsciously  timing  his  strides  to  the 
pulses  of  his  mood.  Why  would  the  voice  of  Miss 
Noble  keep  ringing  in  his  ears,  and  her  earnest,  honest 
eyes  keep  looking  straight  into  his  with  some  almost 
imperceptible  shadow  of  rebuke  in  them  ?  And  why 
did  the  poor  little  face  of  Milly  White  now  and  again 
force  itself  upon  his  inner  vision?  He  could  hardly  be 
called  morbidly  sensitive,  but  he  had  been  for  so  long 
a  time  shut  away  from  the  finer  and  sweeter  social 
influences.  Somewhat  a  dreamer,  too,  as  are  all  per- 
sons who  dwell  apart  with  nature  and  art.  Since  his 
hermit  life  began  he  had  been  a  contributor,  under  a 
nom  de  plume,  to  a  number  of  English  and  American  pub- 
lications, both  as  an  artist  and  as  a  writer,  so  that  he 
had  divided  his  time  between  the  pleasures  of  the 
sportsman  and  the  milder  excitements  of  the  provincial 
magazineist.  He  had  fancied  for  a  long  time  that  he 
was  happy,  and  that  all  the  fascination  of  woman's 
charms  had  ceased  for  him.  Now  as  he  strode  along 


66  AT  LOVE'S  EX1  'REMES. 

he  was  loth  to  admit,  even  in  the  secrecy  of  self-com- 
munion, that  the  old  influence  was  taking  hold  again 
with  a  zest  as  fresh  as  it  was  keen  and  deep.  He  stopped 
at  the  highest  point  reached  by  the  sinuous  trail  and 
sat  down  upon  a  stone.  The  tall,  puffy  column  of 
black  smoke  from  the  iron  furnaces  rose  slantingly 
against  the  line  of  sky  above  the  valley  where  the  town 
lay.  In  another  direction,  beyond  a  dusky  gulch,  some 
lines  of  fire  were  burning  along  the  mountain  sides,  like 
the  lights  of  an  army  camp.  He  tried  to  analyze  his 
feelings,  but  the  effort  was  futile ;  he  got  up  and  went 
on  down  to  the  cabin,  his  blood  tingling  as  if  with  wine. 

The  moon  had  fallen  to  the  western  mountain-tops 
and  was  touching  a  peak  with  its  delicate  horn  when 
he  reached  the  rustic  gate.  Milly  was  there,  as  was  her 
wont,  to  welcome  him  home. 

"  I  knowed  'at  ye'd  come,"  she  said,  "  fur  I  dremp 
last  night  at  ye  was  dead  an"  'at's  a  sign,  ye  know." 

Her  face,  upturned  to  his,  caught  from  the  faint 
moonlight,  or  from  some  other  heavenly  reflection,  a 
gleam  of  peaceful  happiness  that  added  something 
which  Reynolds  never  before  had  seen  there,  or  if  ever 
he  had  seen  it,  it  was  when,  a  mere  child,  she  had  so 
faithfully  hung  over  him  and  tended  him  through  a 
long  and  almost  fatal  illness.  The  memory  of  her 
untiring  patience  and  gentleness,  her  quick  sense  of 
his  needs  and  her  silent  but  evidently  deep  joy  at  his 
final  recovery,  now  suddenly  rushed  upon  him. 


A  T  THE  GA  TE.  67 

"  I've  ben  a  wushin'  ye'd  come  an'  I'm  so  glad  ! "  she 
murmured,  as  she  opened  the  gate  for  him.  "  Hit  air 
so  lonesome  when  ye'r  away." 

Her  lithe,  plump  figure  was  clothed  in  a  clinging 
gown  of  cotton  stuff  and  a  white  kerchief  was  pinned 
about  her  throat.  Down  over  her  shoulders  in  a  long, 
rather  thin  brush  fell  her  rimpled  pale  yellow  hair. 
Her  cheeks  glowed  and  her  lips  had  on  them  the  dew 
of  innocent  and,  alas,  ignorant  maidenhood.  A  flash 
of  recognition  leaped  into  the  mind  of  Reynolds, 
though  he  was  scarcely  conscious  of  it,  and  Milly 
White's  strange  beauty  was  no  longer  invisible  to  him. 

"  Ye  ortn't  to  stay  away  so  long,"  she  added,  not  in 
rebuke,  but  in  a  low,  quavering  voice  like  that  of  some 
happy  bird.  Her  mountain  dialect,  crabbed  as  it 
appears  in  writing,  added  emphasis  to  the  fresh,  half 
wild  tenderness  of  her  tones. 

All  around  the  woods  and  little  broken  fields  were 
dim  and  silent.  The  warm  southern  stars  burned  over- 
head and  the  fitful  balmy  air  crept  past  with  furtive 
whispers.  The  moon  slipped  down  behind  the  mount- 
ain, leaving  on  the  peak  a  delicate  wavering  ghost  that 
slowly  vanished  into  the  common  haze  of  the  night. 
Reynolds  paused  in  the  little  gateway  and  looked  down 
into  Milly's  lifted  shining  face.  In  that  instant  a  tender 
feeling,  a  subtle  sense  of  some  obscure  but  immediate 
draught  upon  the  inner  sources  of  his  passionate  nature, 
took  complete  possession  of  him.  The  touching  sweet- 


68  AT  LO VE 'S  EXTREMES. 

ness  of  her  face,  the  wild  grace  of  her  form,  and  that 
charming  expression  of  strength  and  development, 
impressed  him.  He  forgot  the  cabin,  the  pinched  and 
sapless  mountain  life  and  all  its  empty  hopelessness. 
For  the  time  he  saw  nothing  but  Milly  as  his  over- 
stimulated  imagination  lighted  her  face  and  form  with 
the  allurements  of  irresistible  beauty.  He  stooped, 
and,  swiftly  folding  her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her  passion- 
ately. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  her  voice  slipping  with  sharp  sweet- 
ness away  through  the  dusky  woods.  It  was  like  the 
quick  musical  chirp  of  a  glad  bird.  She  clung  to  him 
with  strong,  loving  arms. 

He  let  her  go  presently  and  said  : 

"  It  is  late  for  you  to  be  out ;  come  in  now,  the  night 
air  is  beginning  to  be  chilly  and  you'll  catch  a  cold." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  naively  responded,  "  let's  us  stay  out 
yer,  they're  a  smokin'  in  ther,  an'  hit's  so  nice  ter  be 
put  yer."  Her  mountain  dialect,  as  filtered  through 
her  pure,  peculiarly  musical  voice,  lost  all  its  harshness 
and  became  a  fitting  expression  of  a  part  of  the  fasci- 
nating enigma  of  her  character.  "YeV  ben  away 
so  long,  John,  an'  sometimes  I  wus  afeared  to  go  er- 
sleep  'cause  ye  wus  gone,  an'  'cause  I'd  dream  ye  wus 
dead." 

"  Well,  come  in  now,"  he  gently  urged,  drawing  the 
long  pale  brush  of  her  hair  through  his  hand  and  pass- 
ing on  into  the  cabin. 


A  T  THE  GA  TE.  69 

She  looked  after  him,  the  smile  slowly  fading  out  of 
her  face  and  giving  place  to  that  half-vacant,  mildly 
hopeless  expression  which  it  usually  wore.  She  put 
her  rather  large  but  finely  chiseled  hands  on  top  of  her 
head,  with  the  fingers  laced  together,  and  with  her 
elbows  extended  gazed  listlessly  at  the  sky.  She  felt 
a  vague  sense  of  disappointment  blended  with  a  deli- 
cious happiness.  When  Reynolds  entered  the  cabin, 
White  and  his  wife  were  leaning  over  a  mere  pretense 
of  fire  and  smoking  their  pipes,  with  such  abandonment 
to  the  luxury  that  they  merely  glanced  at  him  as  he 
entered;  but  mountain  politeness  overcame  the  tobacco 
at  last,  and  they  got  up,  greeting  him  warmly.  He 
shook  hands  with  them  in  turn,  asking  about  their 
health,  but  declined  to  sit  down,  preferring  after  a  few 
commonplace  inquiries,  to  go  into  his  own  room  and 
be  alone. 

His  first  sensation  on  entering  his  apartment  was 
one  of  disgust  at  its  rough  and  uninviting  aspect. 
Indirectly  the  question  was  assailing  him  :  why  had  he 
ever  been  content  in  such  a  place?  A  query  of  this 
nature  may  arise  in  one's  mind  without  any  definite 
form,  impressing  itself  by  a  sort  of  implication  and 
indirect  reflection  from  a  throng  of  comparisons  invol- 
untarily and  almost  unconsciously  made.  Reynolds' 
nature  was  intensely  virile,  his  passions  powerful  and 
his  imagination  tropical.  It  goes  with  the  saying  that 
his  feelings  and  tastes  were  subject  to  violent  and  sud- 


70  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

den  changes.  He  usually  had,  however,  perfect  self- 
control  and  an  outward  appearance  of  calmness  under 
the  most  trying  circumstances.  But  let  the  check-rein 
once  break  and  his  fiery  passions  get  control  of  the  bit, 
then  nothing  that  passion  demands  could  escape  him. 
He  was  aware  of  this ;  he  knew  the  need  of  self- 
restraint,  for  at  the  bottom  his  was  a  noble  soul,  full 
of  self-sacrifice  and  generous,  liberal  manliness. 

On  the  floor  by  his  easel  lay  a  'scrap  of  white  paper 
with  something  scrawled  upon  it.  He  picked  it  up 
mechanically  and  saw  that  Milly  had  been  trying  to 
Copy  the  dog-sketch  that  still  rested  on  the  easel.  It 
was  a  poor,  crude  scratch,  such  as  a  little  child  might 
'have  accomplished,  showing  in  its  stiff,  hesitating  lines 
the  limitations  of  the  girl's  vague  notion  of  art.  He 
smiled  at  this  evidence  of  the  first  stirrings  of  culture 
in  a  handful  of  almost  barren  soil.  Art  is  forever  drop- 
ping seeds  that  germinate  under  all  the  exigencies  of 
weather.  Few  of  the  shootlets  live  to  show  more  than 
a  tender  point  above  the  surface  of  the  ground,  but 
their  number  is  legion  and  each  spike  gives  to  the  air 
an  infinitesimal  trace  of  fragrance  which  cheers  us  as 
we  breathe. 

While  he  stood  looking  at  her  work,  Milly  came  into 
the  room  through  a  doorway  that  led  from  the  kitchen. 
He  was  still  smiling  when  he  looked  towards  her  and 
said.  : 

"  Did  you  draw  this,  Milly  ?  " 


AT  THE  GATE.  1\ 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  face  and  leaned  against 
the  wall.  The  light  from  a  large  lamp  on  the  table 
gave  to  her  figure  the  effect  of  a  strong  sketch  in  char- 
coal, lie  noted  her  attitude  with  an  artist's  eye,  and 
with  a  man's  eyes,  too.  There  was  a  bird-like  grace 
in  the  droop  of  her  shoulders  and  in  the  fine  curves  of 
her  body  and  limbs.  Her  flaxen  hair  gave  forth  just  a 
modicum  of  golden  light. 

He  did  not  repeat  his  inquiry.  Something  in  her 
appearance  checked  him.  All  that  Moreton  had  said 
about  her  came  into  his  mind  with  almost  startling 
force.  How  clearly  he  felt  now  the  dryad-like  strength 
of  her  figure,  and  the  infantile  purity  of  her  face.  She 
had  the  soul  of  a  woman,  too,  for  how  tenderly  she  had 
nursed  him. 

"  Get  me  my  slippers,  please,  Milly,"  he  presently 
said,  more  to  break  up  the  situation  than  with  a  desire 
to  be  served. 

She  let  fall  her  hands  and  sprang  to  obey  him,  with 
the  noiseless  swiftness  of  a  kitten.  She  fetched  his 
slippers,  and  also  his  dressing  gown,  from  a  corner  of 
the  room.  This  done  she  lingered  near  him  for  awhile, 
as  if  hoping  he  might  need  some  further  help.  She 
would  not  look  straight  at  him  now,  but  kept  her 
face  half  turned  away,  glancing  •  sidewise  under  her 
drooping  eyelids,  one  hand  fluttering  idly  about  the 
kerchief  at  her  throat. 

Some  one  lifted  the  latch  of  the  door  leading  to  the 


72  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

room  in  which  White  and  his  wife  were  smoking.  At 
the  first  click  Milly  darted  noiselessly  into  the  kitchen. 
It  was  White,  who  hesitatingly  thrust  his  head  past  the 
door-post  and  said  : 

"  I  loaded  three  hunderd  carterges  fur  the  twelve-bore 
gun." 

"  Load  a  hundred  for  the  twenty-gauge,  if  you  please," 
said  Reynolds,  "  two  and  a  half  drams  of  powder  and 
three-quarters  of  an  ounce  of  number  eight  shot.  Put 
two  wads  on  the  powder,  don't  forget." 

"All  right,  sir,  I  air  'quainted  wuth  jest  what  ye 
want.  Them  shells  '11  be  fixed  up  jest  to  the  dot.  Ye 
orter  see  them  air  dogs,  they  shine  same  like  they'd 
ben  'iled." 

"  Thank  you,  I'm  glad  of  that.  Good  night,"  said 
Reynolds,  anxious  to  get  back  to  his  thoughts. 

White  withdrew  his  head. 

Milly,  from  the  shadows  of  the  kitchen,  gazed  fixedly 
at  Reynolds,  as  he  stood  in  the  mellow  light  of  the  lamp. 

He  was,  indeed,  a  man  pleasing  to  look  upon,  strong, 
tall,  nobly  proportioned,  with  a  grand  head  and  a  dark, 
handsome  face.  His  limbs  were  long  and  muscular, 
his  shoulders  square  and  broad,  his  chest  deep,  his 
waist  rather  slender,  his  whole  bearing  that  of  a  man 
by  birth  and  of  right  a  gentleman,  and  by  reason  of 
health  and  training  an  athlete.  Say  what  we  may, 
such  a  man  bears  about  with  him  a  power  of  fascina- 
tion, a  magnetism  able  to  work  great  good  or  great  evil 


AT  THE  GATE.  ,  73 

or  both.  He  is  a  flame  in  which  a  soul  may  be  warmed  or 
burned  up,  according  to  circumstances.  A  girl  of  Milly's 
ignorance  and  inexperience  had  nothing  to  protect 
her  from  such  danger  as  his  influence  might  bring.  She 
would  have  gone  unhesitatingly  to  any  length  he  might 
have  asked,  without  the  slightest  thrill  of  doubt  or  fear. 
Hers  was  not  a  nature  capable  of  much  expansion  or 
improvement.  A  long  line  of  mountain  ancestors  had 
fixed  in  her  the  hereditary  simpleness,  narrowness  and 
mental  barrenness  of  the  Sandlapper;  but  along  with 
these  limitations  had  come  the  gift  of  a  flower-like 
beauty  of  form  and  face,  and  a  voice  sweeter  than  any 
bird's.  She  had  come  up  in  a  wild,  lonely  way,  run- 
ning free  in  wind  and  sun  and  rain,  quite  illiterate, 
utterly  unaware  of  conventional  proprieties,  truthful, 
honest,  affectionate,  passionate,  after  a  fashion,  and  as 
independent  as  any  deer  in  the  woods. 

It  would  not  be  making  the  statement  too  strong  to 
say  that  Reynolds  came  to  a  discovery  of  her  striking 
beauty  as  one  comes  upon  those  haunting  visions  of 
loveliness  in  one's  dreams.  Why  had  he  not  noticed  it 
before  ?  He  was  vaguely  aware  that  in  some  way  Cordelia 
Noble  had  opened  his  eyes  by  stirring  up  the  stagnant 
fountains  of  his  nature  and  setting  old  currents  to  flow- 
ing in  his  veins.  Her  light  girlish  prattle  had  fallen 
into  his  ears  with  the  effect  that  a  shower  produces  on 
parched  and  withered  sod,  and  it  had  had  the  charm  of 
bird-songs  after  a  long,  dreary  winter. 


74  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

He  remained  at  the  cabin  several  days  before  the 
time  came  for  going  to  General  DeKay's,  and  it  was 
in  some  way  soothing  and  restful  to  have  Milly  shyly 
hovering  around  him.  He  did  not  fully  realize  how 
deeply  he  was  absorbed  in  studying  her  face,  her  form, 
her  free,  wild  grace  of  motion  and  attitude,  and  the 
strange,  crude  music  of  her  voice.  She  followed  him 
wherever  he  went,  or  at  least  whenever  he  would  per- 
mit it,  content  to  be  near  him,  like  some  faithful  ani- 
mal. She  had  always  acted  thus,  but  he  never  had 
noticed  it  before. 

When  at  last  the  time  arrived  for  his  departure  for 
General  DeKay's,  Reynolds  rose  early  in  the  morning 
to  get  ready  for  the  little  journey.  The  DeKay 
place  was  down  on  the  Alabama  river,  near  Mont- 
gomery, and  the  company  from  Birmingham  would  go 
by  rail  to  the  former  city,  where  General  DeKay  would 
have  carriages  for  them.  The  fact  is  that  Reynolds 
had  no  physical  preparations  to  make,  these  having  all 
been  attended  to  with  shrewd  faithfulness  by  White ; 
but  there  was  a  sort  of  indefinable  dread,  or  aversion, 
or  some  other  objection  hovering  in  his  mind  in  con- 
nection with  the  thought  of  leaving  his  retirement,  his 
hermitage,  and  floating  out  once  more  upon  the  open 
sea  of  life.  In  the  early  gray  of  morning  he  crept 
silently  from  the  cabin  and  walked  or  rather  climbed 
to  the  mountain  top  and  sat  down  on  a  stone  with  his 
face  to  the  east.  He  had  spent  a  restless  night, 


AT  THE  GATE.  7$ 

indulging,  between  snatches  of  unrefreshing  sleep, 
regret,  remorse,  repentance  and  other  nightmares  of 
conscience.  He  had  almost  involuntarily  sought  this 
high  perch  overlooking  all  the  country  round,  as  if 
expecting  to  be  purified  by  the  soft  rare  atmosphere 
and  the  exhilarating  wildness  and  freshness  of  the 
view.  The  east  was  all  aglow  with  the  wonder  of  sun- 
rise, whilst  the  valley  wherein  Birmingham  lay  was 
shrouded  in  a  mottled  cloak  of  coal  smoke  from  the 
furnaces.  The  foot-hills,  clothed  in  their  bristling 
pines  and  ragged  scrub-oaks,  were  softened  almost  into 
tenderness  by  the  blueish  film  hovering  over  them.  A 
dewy  coolness  and  sweetness  came  up  on  the  morning 
wind  as  if  out  of  the  lowest  stratum  of  the  valley,  in 
strong  contrast  with  the  absolute  dryness  of  the 
stony  mountain  top.  Slowly  the  fire  of  the  sunrise 
increased  in  the  filmy  east  until  the  great  morning- 
gate  seemed  suddenly  to  fly  open  with  a  wide  upward 
flare  of  flame  and  long,  glowing  spears  of  gold  reach- 
ing out  across  the  valley  and  billowy  foot-hills. 
Reynolds  was  in  a  condition  that  demanded  solitude, 
and  yet  he  felt  no  definite  purpose  in  the  mood,  no 
clear  reason  for  desiring  to  be  alone.  It  filled  him 
with  a  sudden  annoyance  when  a  slight  sound  caused 
him  to  turn  and  see  Milly  standing  close  by,  bare- 
headed and  smiling  radiantly.  He  frowned. 

"What    are   you    here   for,   Milly?"  he  demanded 
sternly.     "  Go  back  immediately." 


76  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

The  girl  did  not  speak.  The  light  went  out  of  her 
face  and  a  strange  grayness  overspread  it  instead. 
She  turned  about  with  a  shrinking  motion  and 
walked  slowly  away  down  the  steep  slope  of  the 
mountain  into  the  straggling  wood.  Almost  immedi- 
ately Reynolds  felt  how  brutal  his  act  had  been  and 
regretted  it,  hated  himself  for  it.  He  arose  as  if  to 
follow  her,  but  faltered  and  hesitated,  allowing  his 
eyes  to  wander  over  the  grand  mountain  landscape 
now  flooded  with  the  full  light  of  the  sun.  What  sort 
of  change  was  this  that  was  coming  into  his  life? 
Something  like  a  warning  shadow  had  fallen  into  his 
soul,  and  yet  some  sweet  foreboding  was  with  it,  some 
tender,  subtle  charm  luring  him  with  a  deep  and  sweet 
fascination.  He  stood  a  while  gazing  dreamily,  but 
seeing  nothing,  then,  shaking  himself  as  one  freeing 
himself  from  slumber,  he  walked  rapidly  in  the  direc- 
tion taken  by  Milly.  Half  way  down  the  slope  in  a 
shadowy  clump  of  dwarf  pines  he  found  the  girl  sit- 
ting on  an  old  log,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands, 
sobbing  bitterly.  He  stopped  close  to  her  and  stood 
for  a  moment  looking  at  her.  How  pitiful  a  picture 
she  made,  with  her  drooping  little  form,  almost  cov- 
ered by  the  thin  gold  veil  of  bright  disheveled  hair, 
outlined  against  a  tangle  of  broken  boughs  !  He  sat 
down  beside  her  and  took  one  of  her  wet  little  hands 
in  his. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

AN   OLD   PLANTATION   HOUSE. 

GENERAL  DEKAY'S  house  was  on  a  slight  knoll 
overlooking  in  one  direction  the  Alabama  river, 
and  a  broad  stretch  of  fertile  cotton  lands,  whilst 
every  other  view  was  lost  in  the  dense  shadows 
of  semi-tropical  woods.  The  building  was  wholly 
wanting  in  architectural  beauty,  yet  it  was  picturesque 
enough,  with  its  wide  verandas  and  tall,  heavy,  stuc- 
coed columns,  its  many-gabled  roof  and  huge  stack  of 
chimneys.  Tall  magnolia  trees  grew  about  it,  vines 
clambered  over  it,  and  its  small-paned,  many-mullioned 
windows  and  open  halls,  gave  it  an  air  of  old-fashioned 
conservatism  and  hospitality  quite  in  a  line  with  what 
one  has  always  read  and  heard  of  southern  country 
life  among  the  wealthy  planters  of  the  Gulf  States. 
Spaciousness  was  the  most  marked  feature  of  the 
building.  The  rooms  were  many  and  large,  arranged 
for  the  comforts  of  unlimited  light  and  air.  When 
the  windows  and  doors  were  all  thrown  open,  a 
breeze  blowing  from  any  quarter  flowed  through  the 
house  with  unchecked  freedom.  The  floors  were  of 
ash,  mostly  uncarpeted,  and  the  walls  and  ceilings 


78  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

were  heavily  paneled  with  oak.  Wide  winding 
stairways  and  huge  fire-places,  cumbrous  chande- 
liers and  sconces,  together  with  what  appeared 
an  over-crowded  amount  of  massive  old-time  furniture, 
suggested  a  formal  stateliness  rather  out  of  keeping  with 
that  freedom  of  welcome  which  was  and  is  the  distinct- 
ive charm  of  southern  hospitality.  The  mansion  had 
been  built  and  furnished  long  before  the  war,  in  the 
most  prosperous  and  extravagant  days  of  slavery,  when 
the  planter  knew  no  limit  to  his  ability  to  make  and 
spend  and  when  he  set  no  bound  to  the  number  of  his 
guests  or  the  length  of  their  stay  under  his  roof. 
The  dark  gray  stucco  and  weather-beaten  shingles, 
together  with  the  old-time  arrangement  of  the  doors 
and  windows,  gave  to  the  building  a  very  ancient  look, 
as  if  it  might  have  stood  there  since  a  time  when  men 
lived  as  did  the  old  fighting  and  feasting  barons  of 
medieval  England.  Bucks'  antlers  hung  in  the  hall, 
along  with  heavy  rifles  and  fowling  pieces,  and  a  few 
striking  ancestral  portraits  looked  down  from  the  dark- 
walls.  It  had  known  much  revelry  of  a  thoroughly 
proper  sort,  this  grand  old  home  of  the  DeKays,  and 
its  inmates,  for  several  generations,  had  exerted  a 
marked  influence  in  the  social  and  political  affairs  of 
the  state.  The  present  owner  had  been  a  fighting  gen- 
eral in  the  confederate  army  and  had  won  by  heroic 
bravery  the  right  to  his  distinguished  military  title. 
When  the  party  from  Birmingham  reached  thi§ 


AN  OLD  PLANT  A  TION  HOUSE.  79 

charming  old  house  by  the  river,  it  was  late  in  the  after- 
noon. Several  other  guests  had  already  arrived  from 
Montgomery,  Pensacola  and  Mobile.  A  corps  of 
obsequious  and  clever  negro  servants,  of  both  sexes  and 
various  ages,  were  ready  to  attend  all  comers.  The 
host,  a  slender  man  of  middle  height,  wearing  a  gray 
military  beard,  greeted  every  body  with  low  bows  and 
profuse  words  of  welcome,  whilst  his  rather  stout  and 
altogether  good  and  motherly  wife  had  a  way  that  was 
welcome  itself. 

Reynolds  and  Moreton  were  given  rooms  adjoining 
and  connected  by  a  door,  their  windows  looking  down 
a  long  shining  reach  of  the  reed-bordered  river.  An 
ideal  place  to  sit  and  smoke,  Moreton  thought,  as  he 
lighted  a  cigarette  and  drew  a  chair  so  that  he  could 
watch  the  silvery  winged  kite  sailing  about  in  the  dis- 
tance, its  forked  tail  and  small  head  giving  it  the  effect 
of  a  fanciful  Japanese  design  wavering  on  the  back- 
ground of  blue-gray  sky.  A  flock  of  domestic  geese 
were  on  the  river,  floating  idly,  now  and  then  lifting 
their  wings  and  flapping  them  rapidly  and  screaming 
in  clamorous  concert.  Wide  fields,  gently  rolling,  and 
distinctly  showing  the  ridged  and  parallel  rows  of  cot- 
ton and  corn  stalks,  swept  away  almost  to  the  horizon, 
bounded  on  one  hand  by  the  river,  and  on  the  other  by 
a  thick  wood,  where  even  the  deciduous  trees  still  re- 
tained a  trace  of  summer  greenery.  Something  in  the 
air  suggested  the  sea,  and  a  sensation,  as  of  extreme 


8o  AT  LO  VE  'S  EXTREMES. 

remoteness  and  isolation,  took  possession  of  Moreton's 
mind.  It  was  his  first  experience  of  life  on  a  low- 
country  plantation.  The  idyllic  simplicity,  quietude 
and  serenity  impressed  him  as  much  as  did  the  state- 
liness  and  amplitude.  Here  was  an  estate  of  thousands 
of  acres — many  miles  in  extent — bearing  on  its  surface 
all  the  marks  of  almost  primitive  modes  of  husbandry. 
Worm  fences,  shallow  plowing,  the  use  of  hoe  and 
wooden  rake  ;  gates  with  pins  and  sockets  instead  of 
latches,  clap-boards  instead  of  shingles  and  plank,  and 
so  on  throughout  the  gamut  of  bucolic  appurtenances 
long  since  discarded  in  thrifty  and  progressive  regions. 
But  beyond  all  this,  there  was  that  indescribable  air  of 
isolation  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  as  if  the  plantation 
were  an  independent  self-sufficient  hereditament  of  the 
DeKays,  owing  no  allegiance  to  any  power  outside  its 
boundary  lines.  No  other  house,  save  the  small  cabins 
of  negro  tenants  scattered  here  and  there,  was  visible. 
The  estate  was  too  large  to  admit  of  neighbors. 
•  When  Moreton  and  Reynolds  went  down  to  the 
drawing-room  they  found  themselves  in  the  midst  of  a 
company  composed  largely  of  gentlemen,  there  being 
but  four  ladies  besides  the  hostess^.  Miss  Noble  was 
surrounded  by  a  group  of  young  sportsmen  freely  dis- 
cussing hunting  and  shooting  topics,  her  bright,  strong 
face  and  Juno  form  showing  at  their  best.  A  tall  young 
woman,  a  Miss  Beresford  from  Montgomery,  whose  father 
had  been  governor  of  the  state — and  whose  brother,  Mr. 


AN  OLD  PL  ANT  A  TION  HOUSE.  8l 

Mallory  Beresford,  a  noted  shot,  was  present — stood 
near  a  window  in  conversation  with  Mr.  Noble  and 
General  DeKay.  But  the  most  striking  group  in  the 
room  was  composed  of  Mr.  Mallory  Beresford  and  two 
ladies,  one  a  quick-spoken,  alert,  rather  faded  looking 
blonde,  whose  lips  could  not  cover  her  irregular  teeth, 
the  other  a  pale,  sweet-faced,  almost  slight  young 
person,  whose  bearing,  though  decidedly  womanly  and 
dignified,  had  a  girlish  charm  wholly  indescribable.  The 
blonde  was  speaking  in  a  rapid  manner,  and  her  words, 
sharply  accentuated,  reached  the  ears  of  Reynolds : 

"  Oh,  I  am  really  not  a  guest,"  she  was  saying,  "  I 
invited  myself.  I  came  to  gather  material  for  a  letter 
to  our  paper.  I  begged  the  privilege  of  General 
DeKay.  A  description  of  a  shooting-party  on  a  gen- 
uine old  Southern  plantation  is  a  rare  find  for  a  corre- 
spondent. I  feel  that  I  am  in  grand  luck."  Her  ges- 
tures amounted  to  gesticulations. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Crabb,  what  journal  do  you  represent?  " 
inquired  Mr.  Beresford  in  a  voice  modulated  to  the 
gentlest  southern  inflections. 

"  The  Ringville  Star,  of  Ringville,  Indiana.  I  am  the 
associate  editor,"  she  glibly  responded. 

Reynolds  heard  this  much  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
face  of  the  other  woman  whose  smile  had  that  rare 
quality  of  sweetness  suggesting  sadness,  and  whose 
large,  soft  blue  eyes  beamed  with  a  tenderness  and 
truthfulness  that  seemed  in  some  way  touched  with 


82  AT  LO VE 'S  EXTREMES. 

well  repressed  trouble.  There  are  faces  whose  expres- 
sion will  at  first  sight  suggest  some  secret  story  of  grief 
or  wrong  or  regret.  Sometimes  a  high  order  of  beauty 
will,  of  itself,  carry  with  it,  as  the  flower  carries  its  per- 
fume, a  haunting  reminder,  or  half-reminder,  of  the  sub- 
tle ways  of  fate.  Reynolds  was  aware  that  General 
DeKay  was  coming  across  the  room  to  meet  him,  but 
he  could  not  tear  his  gaze  from  the  young  woman's 
lovely  face. 

"  I  haven't  presented  you  to  my  niece,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral, taking  the  young  man's  arm.  "  She  is  really  my 
daughter  now,  for  I  have  made  her  my  heir.  Haven't 
much  left  for  her  to  inherit,  however,  save  a  good  old 
name." 

For  a  moment  Reynolds'  hand  closed  over  the  warm, 
dainty  fingers  extended  towards  him,  and  he  bowed 
low  before  Mrs.  Ransom — Agnes  Ransom,  a  name  that 
was  soon  to  become  one  of  thrilling  sweetness  to  him. 

44  Oh,  it's  very  pleasant,  in  many  ways,  to  belong  to 
the  press,"  Miss  Crabb  was  saying.  "  One  can  go 
every  where  and  see  every  thing.  The  railroads  give  us 
free  passes  and  the  hotels  put  our  rates  to  the  lowest. 
For  instance,  how  could  I  ever  have  found  my  way  into 
this  delightful  house  and  this  charming  company,  if  I 
hadn't  carried  the  magic  of  the  press  with  me  ?  "  She 
ended  with  a  rather  musical  laugh.  Her  question  was 
one  that  Beresford  dared  not  attempt  to  answer,  for,  in 
fact,  he  knew  of  no  other  way  by  which  she  could  have 


AM  OLD  PLAJVTA  TlON  HOUSE.  83 

gained  an  entrance  to  this  secluded  and  exclusive  place. 
It  chanced  that  he  knew  how  the  editor  of  a  Mont- 
gomery paper  had  interested  himself  in  Miss  Crabb's 
behalf  and  begged  General  DeKay  to  extend  her  the 
privilege  of  "writing  up"  the  shoot. 

"  She  seems  to  be  an  excellent  young  woman,  and 
then  her  paper  is  hopelessly  obscure.  You  needn't 
fear  you  will  ever  hear  of  it  again,  unless  she  sends  you 
a  copy,"  the  editor  urged,  "  and  I  feel  a  sort  of  frater- 
nal responsibility  for  her  freedom  of  the  country  while 
she's  here.  We  can't  be  too  tender  in  our  treatment  of 
Northern  editors.  Whatever  we  do  offensive  to  the 
least  one  of  them  will  be  trumpeted  to  the  four  winds 
by  them  all." 

Beresford  very  much  desired  to  talk  with  Mrs.  Ran- 
som, but  the  glib  representative  of  the  Star  went  on  so 
rapidly  that  he  could  find  no  chance  for  withdrawing 
his  attention.  Then  when  Reynolds  appeared  on  the 
scene  all  hope  faded  out. 

"  You  are  a  fine  shot,  Mr.  Beresford,  I  presume," 
continued  Miss  Crabb,  "  kill  birds  on  the  wing?  " 

"  I  believe  I  am  a  fair  shot,"  he  answered,  with  a 
true  sportsman's  faith  in  the  impressiveness  of  mod- 
esty. "  I  shoot  well  enough  to  enjoy  the  sport." 

"  I  saw  Captain  Bogardus  and  Dr.  Carver  shoot 
together  once,"  she  said,  "and  it  was  just  lovely.  They 
hit  most  every  time — little  glass  balls  thrown  out  of  a 
trap.  It  was  extraordinary." 


«4  AT  LO VE  'S  EXTREMES. 

Reynolds  and  Mrs.  Ransom  had  moved  away.  It 
was  a  great  relief  to  Beresford  when  dinner  was  an- 
nounced. At  any  other  time  he  might  have  been  able 
to  bear,  and  even  enjoy  Miss  Crabb's  rapid  and  versa- 
tile conversation,  but  now  that  Agnes  Ransom  was 
seemingly  absorbed  in  listening  to  this  dark,  handsome 
stranger,  he  could  not  keep  his  wits  about  him.  Miss 
Crabb  had  to  do  all  the  talking,  a  thing  she  did  not 
seem  to  regard  as  a  hardship. 

"  There  is  a  veritable  ruin  near  here,  I  am  told,"  she 
said,  "a  picturesque  old  heap,  the  remains  of  a  grand 
mansion,  on  a  bluff  by  the  river.  I  should  very  much 
like  to  go  and  see  it  before  I  return  to  Montgomery. 
Do  you  know  any  thing  about  it  ?" 

"  No,  I  regret  that  I  have  not  the  pleasure.  I  believe 
I  have  never  heard  of  it,"  he  answered.  "  General 
DeKay  should  be  able  to  inform  you."  And  so  he 
conducted  her  to  the  host  and  hastened  to  another  part 
of  the  room,  conscious  of  having  been  guilty  of  a  petty 
turn. 

Moreton  had  joined  the  group  of  which  Miss  Noble 
was  the  light,  whilst  Reynolds  and  Mrs.  Ransom  had 
found  their  way'to  Miss  Beresford,  whose  ultra  Southern 
face  and  figure  were  supplemented  by  conversational 
graces  strikingly  suggestive  of  a  social  era  almost  for- 
gotten, save  among  the  most  conservative  people  of  the 
low  country.  She  was  tall  and  dark,  with  regular  feat- 
ures, large,  rather  expressionless  black  eyes  and  straight 


A 2V  OLD  PLAfrTA  TION  HOUSE.  85 

black  hair.  Mrs.  Ransom  introduced  Reynolds,  and 
then  dinner  was  announced. 

"  This  is  a  gentlemen's  party,"  Miss  Beresford  said, 
on  the  way  to  the  dining-room,  "  and  it  has  been 
arranged  that  the  ladies  shall  act  as  waiters,  and  we 
beg  you  not  to  criticise  our  methods  too  severely — we 
are  not  perfectly  trained  to  the  work." 

"  One  who  has  been  for  several  years  living  in  the 
family  of  a  mountaineer,  as  I  have,  should  not  be  in  a 
criticising  mood,"  responded  Reynolds ;  "  how  shall 
such  an  one  presume  to  judge  whether  or  no  you  bal- 
ance a  tray  artistically  ?  " 

He  spoke  lightly,  but  the  word  mountaineer,  as  he 
uttered  it,  called  up  with  electrical  swiftness,  a  thought 
that  sent  a  strange  thrill  through  him.  A  low,  patheti- 
cally plaintive  voice  seemed  to  speak  to  him  in  the 
mountain  dialect.  He  saw  a  little  coarsely-clad  form 
leaning  on  the  gate  at  White's,  with  the  pale  starlight 
glimmering  on  its  upturned  face. 

As  Miss  Beresford  had  said  it  was  to  be,  the  dinner 
was  served  by  the  ladies,  who  passed  behind  the  chairs 
of  the  gentlemen,  flitting  nimbly  back  and  forth,  receiv- 
ing the  viands  from  the  hands  of  negro  servants  at  the 
door  of  an  ante-room,  and  presenting  them  to  the 
guests.  It  was  a  study  worthy  of  an  artist's  handling, 
that  ample  dining-room,  with  its  curiously  carved 
panels  of  oak,  its  antique  mahogany  side-board,  its 
ponderous  brass  chandeliers  and  its  high-backed  chairs. 


86  AT  LO VE 'S  EXTREMES. 

Even  Miss  Crabb,  as  she  actively  busied  herself  with 
the  part  of  the  duties  that  fell  to  her  share,  showed  to 
picturesquely  good  effect  amidst  such  foils  to  her 
vivacious  face  and  restless  energy. 

She  was,  by  temperament  and  education,  a  person 
not  likely  to  slight  any  opportunity  of  furthering  her 
own  plans,  no  matter  how  great  the  breach  of  small 
proprieties  involved  in  the  act.  Even  as  she  brightly 
and  smartly  hurried  hither  and  thither  around  the 
table,  she  was  thinking  of  how  her  experiences  and 
observations  here  at  the  DeKay  mansion  would  look 
in  the  pages  of  a  certain  magazine,  if  only  she  could 
get  it  accepted,  with  a  number  of  picturesque,  ultra 
Southern  illustrations,  and  with  her  name  appended  in 
full :  Sara  Annah  Crabb.  She  imagined  the  stir  such 
an  event  would  cause  in  Ringville,  where  as  yet  her 
genius  was  not  especially  admired.  She  nursed  a 
dream  of  sudden  fame  quite  masculine  and  muscular, 
so  to  speak,  which  would  enable  her  to  get  even  with 
the  male  editors  who  had  so  often  made  sport  of  her 
prose  and  verse  and  even  of  her  name.  She  was  a 
good  girl,  honest,  conscientious  and  full  of  kindness, 
but  she  had  had  a  very  hard  struggle  \vith  life,  and  she 
was  mightily  ambitious.  The  adroitness  with  which 
she  now  and  then  slipped  from  her  pocket  a  little 
note-book  and  pencil  and  the  rapidity  with  which  she 
jotted  down  certain  memoranda  of  what  she  saw  or 
heard  prevented  much  notice  being  given  to  the 


AN  OLD  PL  ANT  A  TION  HOUSE.  87 

incivility  by  either  host  or  guests.  Indeed  she  had  a 
quiet,  semi-furtive  celerity  that,  coupled  with  what 
may  be  called  an  insignificance  of  manner,  neutralized 
any  vulgarity  which  otherwise  would  have  been  observ- 
able to  an  offensive  degree.  Then,  too,  she  talked 
so  rapidly  and  volubly  that  if  one  looked  at  her  at  all 
one  must  have  been  wholly  occupied  with  what  her 
lips  were  doing.  It  was  a  wonder  how  she  could 
impress  one  as  being  a  very  quiet  person  and  yet  be 
skipping  about  and  talking  like  that. 

She  was  a  revelation  to  Moreton.  She  gave  him  a 
glimpse  of  American  intellectual  life  in  the  crude 
state  exemplified  from  a  feminine  standpoint.  He  had 
heard  of  and  read  of  the  strong-minded  women  of  the 
western  continent,  but  here  was  the  first  instance  that 
had  come  within  his  view.  Strange  to  say,  he  rather 
liked  her.  Her  freedom  was  racy  of  the  West,  the 
breezy,  broad,  grassy,  fertile  West,  where,  as  he 
imagined,  the  buffaloes  ventured  into  the  outskirts  of 
the  cities  and  where  the  men  took  their  guns  with 
them  to  church.  Perhaps  he  did  not  imagine  this, 
after  all,  but  the  spirit  of  it  was  in  his  thoughts.  She 
seemed  to  him  a  fair  exponent  of  society  molded  by 
such  surrounding.  He  felt  with  aesthetic  nicety  how, 
turning  from  Miss  Crabb's  harmless  inquisitiveness, 
chic  and  crude  vim,  the  lines  of  feminine  force  and 
beauty,  by  comparison,  were  graded  through  a  thousand 
changes  to  reach  such  perfection  as  he  perceived  in 


88  AT  LO VE 'S  EXTREMES. 

Miss  Noble.  He  even  found  himself  chivalrously 
attacking  providence  for  showing  such  a  difference  in 
bestowing  gifts  upon  the  two  girls.  Why  should  Miss 
Crabb  be  so  tall  and  angular  and  sallow,  so  lacking  in 
the  lines  of  grace,  so  sharp-voiced  and  ugly?  Why 
could  she  not  have  been  rich,  at  least  ?  Poor  girl ! 
she  must  carry  so  much  while  Miss  Noble  had  beauty, 
health,  grace,  riches. 

The  windows  were  open,  allowing  a  gentle  ripple  of 
air  through  the  room,  charged  with  a  woodsy  freshness 
and  that  grateful  balm  always  present  on  warm  winter 
evenings  in  the  south.  Once  when  Mrs.  Ransom  leaned 
over  Reynolds'  shoulder  in  performing  some  needed 
service,  the  loose  end  of  a  simple  ribbon  at  her  throat 
was  blown  lightly  against  his  cheek  and  he  caught  the 
merest  waft  of  violet  perfume  from  the  flowers  on  her 
breast.  It  was  a  slight  thing,  but  it  was  to  him  the 
sweetest  part  of  the  dinner. 

Women  appear  to  be  little  aware,  as  a  rule,  of  the 
powerful  influence  they  may  wield  over  men  by  their 
sweet  negative  qualities  as  well  as  by  their  sweet  posi- 
tive ones.  For  instance,  the  absence  of  a  high  harsh 
voice  is  next  in  value  to  the  presence  of  a  gentle  and 
low  one.  A  quiet,  modest  shyness  of  manner  may  be 
apparent  from  the  total  absence  of  any  angular  self- 
assertion  rather  than  from  the  actual  existence  of  the 
manner  itself.  Hence  it  is  that  most  women  who  fancy 
themselves  strikingly  attractive  to  men,  are  really  quite 


AN  OLD  PLANT  A  TJO.V  HOUSE.  89 

the  reverse,  whilst  it  is  often  the  case  that  the  shy,  sen- 
sitive woman  who  shrinks  from  self-display,  wins 
admiration  from  the  other  sex  without  possessing  any 
positive  qualities  especially  charming.  With  the 
approach  of  Mrs.  Ransom,  a  half-formed  sense  of  satis- 
faction and  subtle  delight  crept  into  Reynolds'  bosom, 
as  if  with  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers  she  wore  he 
breathed  in  a  rarer  and  more  precious  element  exhaled 
by  her  own  flower-like  nature.  It  is  good  for  a  man  to  be 
able  to  keep  undulled  his  susceptibleness  to  such  deli- 
cate influences,  for  thereby  his  nature  enriches  and 
sweetens  itself.  The  crucial  test  of  virility  of  the  high- 
est order  is  that  of  its  sensitiveness  to  the  finest  and 
purest  demands  of  woman's  nature.  The  man's  soul 
has  lost  its  morning  freshness  whose  nerves  do  not 
tingle  response  to  the  least  touch  of  the  most  ethereal 
breath  of  feminine  sweetness,  sincerity  and  beauty,  and 
he  is  a  brute  who  pauses  to  trace  his  susceptibility  to 
some  gross  origin. 

"  It  is  quite  charming  to  dine  under  such  ministra- 
tion," said  Reynolds,  while  receiving  some  delicate 
dish  from  the  steady  little  hand,  "but  I  should " 

"  No,"  she  interrupted  with  a  grave,  sweet  smile,  "do 
not  say  the  rest.  We  think  it  quite  fitting.  My  uncle 
at  first  refused  to  have  any  ladies  included  in  the 
party ;  but  I  insisted  on  having  one  or  two  of  my 
dearest  friends,  and  it  is  agreed  that  we  are  not  to  be 
considered  as  forming  any  part  of  the  company." 


QO  AT  LO VE 'S  EXTREMES. 

She  passed  on,  without  giving  him  any  chance  for 
further  words.  Beresford,  who  sat  opposite,  begrudged 
every  syllable  she  had  uttered. 

All  around  the  table  the  conversation  was  of  field 
sports,  adventures  with  dog  and  gun  and  prospects  for 
the  morrow's  shooting.  General  DeKay  and  Mr. 
Noble,  as  veterans,  led  the  discussions,  the  banker 
giving  fluent  and  graphic  accounts  of  his  experiences  in 
the  Maine  and  Michigan  woods,  the  General  respond- 
ing with  racy  bits  of  adventure  in  the  game  regions  of 
Louisiana  and  Florida.  Men  who  like  field  sports  are, 
as  a  rule,  earnest,  healthy,  vivacious  fellows,  fond  of 
good  cheer,  with  a  decided  leaning  towards  making  the 
best  of  every  thing.  Such  company  as  that  around  the 
board  at  the  DeKay  mansion,  was,  therefore,  one  to 
enjoy  to  the  full  the  superb  feast  and  all  its  attendant 
freedom  from  formality.  The  ladies  retired  when  the 
cigars  came  in,  leaving  General  DeKay  and  Mr.  Noble 
to  test  some  old  brandy,  while  the  younger  men  sipped 
a  milder  beverage,  under  the  white  wreaths  of  Cuban 
tobacco  smoke.  Two  or  three  negro  men-servants  had 
quickly  cleared  the  table,  and  now  moved  noiselessly 
about,  or  stood  like  white-aproned  ebon  statues, 
gazing  thirstily  upon  the  sparkling  glasses. 

Meanwhile  the  ladies  were  having  their  own  pleasant 
dinner  in  the  breakfast  room,  Miss  Crabb  entertaining 
them  with  a  vivid  account  of  some  of  her  experiences 
its  a  correspondent  and  editor.  Her  sketches  had  a 


AN  OLD  PLANTA  TION  HOUSE.  91 

breadth  and  freedom,  all  the  more  fascinating  to  the 
Southern  part  of  her  audience,  on  account  of  the 
impressions  they  gave  of  a  field  of  woman's  labor 
unknown  in  the  dreamy  land  of  cotton  and  sugar- 
cane, magnolias  and  mocking-birds.  Miss  Crabb  was 
very  earnest  and  sincere,  deeply  impressed  with  the 
importance  and  influence  of  her  profession,  and  her 
straight  forward  manner  of  talking,  along  with  a  per- 
fectly evident  good-heartedness,  won  a  peculiarly 
qualified  admiration  and  respect  from  the  majority  of 
her  listeners.  Her  effect  with  Miss  Noble  was  quite 
different.  The  shrewd,  wide-awake  Northern  girl  knew 
very  well  how  purely  a  matter  of  business  Miss  Crabb 
was  making  of  the  whole  affair,  and  how  like  a  dissect- 
ing-knife  her  pen  would  be.  She  sympathized  with  the 
young  journalist,  however,  and  silently  hoped  that  she 
might  make  a  success  of  her  bold  effort  to  penetrate  to 
the  inner  heart  of  this  old,  exclusive  Southern  social 
circle,  the  picturesque  charm  of  which  seemed  to  hover 
like  an  atmosphere  in  the  quaint,  dingy,  airy  room. 

All  the  doors  and  windows  were  open  and  the 
night  breathed  through  the  house,  bearing  the  pun- 
gency of  the  men's  tobacco  in  faint  traces  to  the 
breakfast  room,  and  presently  the  sound  of  a  banjo 
along  with  the  mellow,  barbaric  voice  of  a  negro 
singer,  filled  the  place.  There  was  almost  uproarious 
applause  from  many  manly  mouths.  Uncle  Mono  was 
ending  up  the  feast  with  his  favorite  song: 


92  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

"  De  raccoon  am  a  cunnin'  ting, 

He  rammel  in  de  dahk, 
Wid  nuffin'  'tall  fo'  to  'stu'b  he  mind, 
Tell  he  yer  my  'coon-dog  bahk  !  " 

He  was  a  jolly-faced,  jet  black  old  fellow,  with  a 
great  shock  of  grizzly  wool  on  his  head,  a  comically 
flexible  mouth,  and  dusky  eyes  that  danced  to  the 
rapid  time  of  his  music. 

It  was  the  merest  chance  that  suggested  Uncle 
Mono  and  his  banjo,  but  if  it  had  been  pre-arranged, 
as  in  a  play,  that  his  two  or  three  humorous  songs 
and  his  one  pathetic  love-ditty  should  close  the  even- 
ing's festivities,  it  would  have  been  in  accord  with 
the  highest  art.  The  almost  rude  yet  wholly  fascinat- 
ing carvings  on  the  time-stained  panels  of  the  dining- 
room,  seemed  to  especially  favor  the  effect  of  such 
lyrical  savageness  and  grotesquerie. 

The  impression  upon  Moreton's  mind  was  strange, 
almost  weird.  When  all  was  over  and  he  was  alone 
in  his  room,  he  leaned  back  in  a  chair,  with  his  feet 
thrust  out  of  the  open  window,  and  gazed  into  the  soft 
sky  with  a  haunting  sense  of  how  suddenly  and  far  he 
had  been  removed  from  the  glare  and  show  and  polite 
tumult  of  his  own  world.  It  was  all  very  fascinating, 
this  isolation  and  decay,  these  soft-tongued  women, 
these  knightly,  half-grave,  half-hilarious  men,  this 
strain  of  music  from  Dahomey, 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

WITH     DOG    AND    GUN. 

"A  westerly  wind  and  a  cloudy  sky, 
Proclaim  it  a  hunting  morning," 

SANG  some  one  of  the  merry  sportsmen,  as  the  dogs 
were  loosed  in  a  gently  rolling  field,  where,  on  one 
hand,  the  stiff,  straggling  rows  of  dry  cotton  stalks  ran 
down  to  the  river  bank,  and  on  the  other  a  dreary  fal- 
low plat,  overgrown  with  yellow  sedge  and  clumps  of 
bushes,  spread  away  to  a  dense  wood.  There  was,  in 
fact,  a  gentle  breeze  from  the  west,  and  a  thin  veil 
of  fleece  clouds  covered  the  sky.  The  morning 
appeared  propitious,  every  one  was  in  high  spirits. 

The  ladies,  in  an  ample  spring  wagon,  had  been 
driven  to  an  elevated  point  whence  they  could  have  a 
sweeping  view  of  the  grounds  to  be  shot  over.  A 
field  glass  or  two  had  been  furnished  them,  so  that  dis- 
tance need  not  trouble  their  observations. 

The  men,  in  a  long  line  and  distant  from  each  other 
not  less  than  twenty  yards,  walked  slowly  with  the 
dogs  running  to  and  fro  ahead  of  them. 

The  morning  was  balmy  and  warm,  but  not  hot, 
with  just  a  hint  of  dampness  in  the  air.  Along  the 


94  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

river  a  low-hanging  line  of  gray  fog  was  slowly  fading 
away. 

The  ladies  alighted  from  the  wagon,  with  the  help 
of  the  colored  driver,  and  disposed  themselves  in  pic- 
turesque attitudes,  their  broad  hats  thrown  back  and 
the  wind  fluttering  their  ribbons.  Miss  Noble  and 
Miss  Crabb  were  the  most  interested,  the  latter 
making  swift  notes  in  a  little  red  book. 

Reynolds  had  quite  forgotten  his  promise  to  Miss 
Noble  about  teaching  her  how  to  shoot.  He  had,  in 
fact,  forgotten  her  as  well.  Moreton  was  on  one  side  of 
him,  Beresford  on  the  other.  He  felt  the  responsibility 
of  having  to  shoot  between  too  such  marksmen ;  but 
he  was  also  keenly  alive  to  the  opportunity  it  would 
give  him  for  a  display  of  his  finest  abilities  as  a  sports- 
man. He  had  resolved  to  lead  the  field  if  possible  and 
he  could  scarcely  have  told  why.  Mrs.  Ransom  had 
said  something  just  before  starting  about  Beresford 
being  considered  the  best  shot  present.  This  may  have 
served  as  a  stimulus.  She  had  not  meant  to  be  over- 
heard by  any  gentleman  of  the  party,  her  words  being 
for  Miss  Crabb's  ear ;  but  Reynolds  did  hear.  Her  voice 
had  a  way  of  getting  to  him,  as  if  it  sought  him  of  its 
own  account.  It  was  a  very  sweet  and  musical  voice, 
suggesting  a  reserve  of  strength  and  depth,  with  just  a 
suspicion  in  it  of  that  vague  sadness  which  lurked  in 
her  face. 

Some    hampers     containing    luncheon     had     been 


WITH  DOG  AND  GUN.  9S 

deposited  under  a  tree  by  a  little  spring  near  where  the 
ladies  were  posted,  and  here,  at  the  sound  of  a  horn 
blown  by  the  negro  attendant,  all  were  to  come  at  high 
noon. 

The  shooting  began  early,  the  first  birds  being  pointed 
by  one  of  General  DeKay's  dogs.  It  was  a  fine  strong 
bevy,  flushed  in  a  weedy  swale.  Mr.  Noble  and  the 
General  both  fired  right  and  left,  getting  but  one  bird 
each.  The  dogs  dropped  to  shot  and  the  game,  well 
scattered,  was  marked  down  in  some  low  sedge  two 
hundred  yards  further  on.  Two  of  the  dogs  were  now 
sent  to  retrieve  the  dead  birds,  which  was  scarcely  done 
when  another  covey  was  flushed  by  some  of  the  party, 
the  birds  taking  almost  the  same  flight  as  the  first. 
This  was  enough  to  warm  the  blood  in  any  sportsman's 
veins.  The  dogs  fairly  trembled  with  eagerness.  The 
line  was  lengthened,  the  shooters  getting  further  apart 
so  as  to  cover  a  wide  territory.  Beresford's  pointer 
was  first  to  stand,  Reynolds'  setter,  .a  noble  dog, 
promptly  backing,  and  two  birds  were  flushed. 
It  was  a  fine  chance  for  a  double  shot,  but  Beres- 
ford  missed  with  his  first  barrel  and  killed  with  his 
second.  Reynolds  cut  down  the  missed  bird  with  his 
right  and  killed  another  that  flushed  in  front  of  him 
with  his  left.  The  shooting  was  now  begun  in  earnest, 
Beresford  making  a  very  difficult  double  a  few  steps 
farther  on,  whilst  Moreton  distinguished  himself  by 
three  straight  misses.  General  DeKay  and  Mr.  Noble 


g6  AT  LOVE'S  EX THEMES. 

were  apparently  the  most  excited  men  in  the  field.  The 
banker  was  too  ready,  shooting  as  soon  as  his  bird 
showed  above  cover,  and  the  General  was  rather  slow, 
poking  his  gun  after  his  game  until  it  had  flown  out  of 
certain  range. 

As  fresh  bevies  were  flushed  and  the  birds  scattered 
themselves  over  a  wide  area,  the  sportsmen  became 
separated,  or  hunted  in  twos  and  threes. 

Miss  Noble  and  MissCrabb  watched  this  eager  skirm- 
ish line  through  their  glasses,  keeping  up,  meantime,  a 
running  discussion  of  the  incidents  as  they  occurred, 
with  true  feminine  lapses,  now  and  then,  into  criticism 
of  whatever  chanced  to  offend  their  notions  of  how  a 
shoot  should  be  conducted. 

"  I  hope  Mr.  Reynolds  will  get  outrageously  beaten," 
exclaimed  Miss  Noble,  "  I  really  do." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  editor. 

"  Because  I  do,"  was  the  response  so  perfectly  intel- 
ligible and  satisfactory  to  all  women. 

"  Oh,"  said  Miss  Crabb,  "  you  have  a  grudge,  have 
you  ?  " 

"  He  promised  me  he  would  teach  me  how  to  shoot," 
Cordelia  laughingly  responded,  "and,  like  all  men,  he 
has  not  kept  his  word." 

"There!  did  you  see  that?"  cried  Miss  Crabb  still 
intently  surveying  the  distant  shooters. 

"  No,  what  was  it  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Reynolds  killed  a  bird  that  Mr.  Beresford  had 


WITH  DOG  AND  GUN.  97 

missed  and  then  turned  and  killed  one  that  the  English 
gentleman — what's  his  name  ? — had  failed  on !  It  was 
lovely — I  like  that !  " 

"  Mr.  Moreton  appears  not  to  be  having  good  luck," 
said  Cordelia,  "  but  I  fancy  he's  quite  as  good  a  shot 
as  any  of  them.  My  father  says  that  any  one  will  have 
unlucky  days,  no  matter  how  good  a  shot  he  may  be." 

"  Mr.  Reynolds  hasn't  missed  yet,  so  far  as  I  have 
observed,"  said  Miss  Crabb.  "  There  went  down  two 
more  birds  before  his  gun.  I  think  he  has  the  best  dog 
of  any  of  them :  it  seems  to  know  just  what  he 
wants." 

"How  is  my  brother  succeeding?"  inquired  Miss 
Beresford  from  her  seat  on  a  wagon-cushion  which  she 
had  laid  on  the  ground  and  covered  with  a  gay  shawl. 

"  Very  finely,  indeed,"  was  Miss  Crabb's  ready  re- 
sponse. "The  honors  seem  to  lie  between  him  and 
Mr.  Reynolds.  They  easily  lead  the  rest." 

"  My  brother  never  has  been  beaten,  I  believe,"  Miss 
Beresford  went  on.  "  He  is  said  to  be  the  best  shot  in 
the  state." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,"  Miss  Crabb  responded,  "  it 
really  looks  as  if  Mr.  Reynolds  would  beat ;  he  hasn't 
missed  a  shot  yet,  and  I  don't  think  he's  going  to." 

Miss  Beresford  smiled  rather  incredulously,  as  if  her 
faith  in  her  brother's  superiority  could  not  so  easily 
be  shaken. 

"  But  they  are  all  getting  so  far  away  that  I  can  not 


98  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

be  sure  any  longer,"  continued  the  observant  editor  in 
an  apologizing  tone. 

Mrs.  Ransom  was  seated  some  distance  apart  from 
the  rest,  busying  herself  with  pinning  a  wreath  of  bay 
leaves  from  material  gathered  off  some  small  trees  by 
the  spring. 

The  firing,  scattered  far  and  wide,  came  to  the  ears 
of  these  listeners,  softened  down  to  a  mere  desultory 
booming,  with  now  and  then  the  quick  repetition  that 
told  of  a  double  shot.  Even  Miss  Crabb  ceased  her 
efforts  to  follow  the  course  of  the  merry  sportsmen. 
She  fell  to  work  at  her  note-book  as  if  venting  a  bitter 
spite  upon  it  and  for  a  time  her  tongue  rested  from  its 
almost  incessant  labors. 

Cordelia  went  to  where  Mrs.  Ransom  was  busy  with 
the  bay  leaves  and  sat  down  on  the  dry  ground  beside 
her. 

"  A  victor's  crown,"  she  said  gayly.  "  So  you  are 
going  to  reward  the  winner?  " 

"  Oh  no,  I  have  been  playing  little  girl.  When  I 
was  a  child  I  used  to  make  wreaths  like  this,  only  I 
have  lost  the  ready  knack  I  had  then." 

"  It's  such  a  delightful  thing  to  be  a  little  girl,"  said 
Cordelia,  impulsively  laying  her  hand  on  Mrs.  Ran- 
som's arm  and  fixing  her  frank  eyes  upon  her  face. 
"  I  wish  I  could  have  always  staid  about  thirteen — 
that's  the  golden  age,  I  think,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  was  a  very  happy  little  girl,"  replied  Mrs.   Ran- 


WITH  DOG  AND  GUN.  99 

som.  The  evasiveness  in  her  voice  and  the  far  away 
look  that  came  for  a  moment  into  her  large  blue  eyes, 
were  not  observed  by  Cordelia,  who,  with  a  buoyant, 
retrospective  ring  in  her  voice,  exclaimed — 

"  Oh,  so  was  I,  ever  so  happy.  There  never  was  any 
one  who  had  so  delightful  a  time.  It  was  so  easy  to  be 
happy  then." 

"You  don't  look  very  sad,  even  now,"  said  Mrs.  Ran- 
som, wholly  recovering  her  sweet,  half-sad  smile. 

Cordelia  laughed  merrily. 

"  One  can't  always  tell  what  a  world  of  trouble  a  face 
like  mine  may  mask,"  she  replied  in  her  lightest  way, 
but  it  gave  her  a  real  pang  the  next  moment,  recollect- 
ing Mrs.  Ransom's  bitter  experience.  She  picked  up 
the  wreath,  which  was  now  finished,  and  put  it  on  her 
head.  It  gave  to  her  plump,  joyous  face  an  air  so  free, 
fresh  and  almost  rustic,  that  one  might  have  mistaken 
her  for  a  Western  farmer's  daughter.  Mrs.  Ransom 
looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  on  a  sudden  im- 
pulse, put  a  hand  on  either  glowing  cheek,  and  drawing 
her  forward,  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"  I  hope  your  dear,  sweet  face  will  never  be  more  of 
a  mask  than  it  is  now,"  she  said.  "  You  blush  as  if  my 
kiss  had  been ' 

"  Had  been  sour !  "  interrupted  Cordelia  with  a  ring- 
ing laugh. 

Meantime  the  men  were  having  what  is  called  glo- 
rious sport.  The  dogs,  now  thoroughly  warmed  with 


160  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

their  work,  were  behaving  their  best.  It  was  a  pleasing 
thing  to  see  them  consciously  competing  with  each 
other,  carefully  beating  back  and  forth  in  front  of  their 
masters,  allowing  no  spot  of  ground  to  go  unexamined, 
promptly  standing  or  backing  or  dropping  to  shot, 
eagerly  watching  each  other's  movements  and  taking 
quick  advantage  of  every  favoring  accident  of  ground- 
surface  or  of  cover.  Each  dog  took  evident  delight  in 
seeing  a  bird,  flushed  from  his  point,  killed  by  his  mas- 
ter. A  missed  quail  brought  as  much  chagrin  to  dog  as 
to  sportsman. 

Some  of  the  party,  in  following  the  flight  of  the 
bevies,  reached  a  country  cut  up  by  shallow  ravines 
and  gulches  leading  down  to  the  river  and  filled  with  a 
dense  tangle  of  small  trees  and  matted  vines.  Here 
the  shooting  was  quite  difficult  and  exciting,  and  both 
sportsmen  and  dogs  were  taxed  to  the  utmost  of  their 
skill ;  for  it  was  impossible  to  know  where  a  bird  would 
flush  or  what  direction  its  flight  would  take.  Mr.  Noble 
was  peculiarly  suited  to  this  sort  of  thing.  He  was  in 
his  element  where  the  cover  was  thickest  and  the  swift- 
est action  required.  He  displayed  his  nimbleness  and 
readiness  to  good  effect  snap-shooting,  as  the  birds 
whirred  out  of  the  dense  cover  to  turn  into  it  again, 
showing  themselves  for  the  merest  point  of  time.  He 
and  Reynolds  chanced  to  get  together  towards  noon  in 
a  place  where  to  kill  a  bird  required  almost  electrical 
quickness.  Reynolds  rarely  refused  a  shot  and  always 


WlTff  DOG  AtfD  Gtftf.  161 

killed.  His  movements  did  not  appear  surprisingly 
swift,  but  the  gun  always  got  to  his  shoulder  in  time. 
He  did  not  snap-shoot,  as  the  word  goes :  his  aim  was 
obtained  with  the  promptness,  celerity  and  certainty  of 
a  mechanical  effect.  Only  four  times  during  the  sport 
did  he  fail  to  bring  down  his  game,  and  every  bird  of 
fifty  shot  at  was  hit.  But  as  a  true  sportsman,  he  was 
ready  to  yield  the  palm  to  the  highest  achievement,  and 
while  he  felt  a  secret  satisfaction  in  knowing  that  he 
had  beaten  Beresford,  he  took  even  keener  pleasure  in 
the  victory  of  his  dog.  The  noble  animal  had  per- 
formed a  feat  in  the  presence  of  Beresford,  Mr.  Noble, 
Moreton  and  General  DeKay,  that  proved  him  a  king 
of  dogs. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  thousand  dollars  cash  for  him  !  " 
exclaimed  the  banker  excitedly. 

The  entire  party  broke  forth  with  hearty  applause. 

It  came  about  as  follows  :  The  dog  had  been  sent 
into  some  weeds  by  Moreton  to  retrieve  a  dead  bird, 
which  he  promptly  did.  It  was  as  he  was  returning, 
with  the  game  in  his  mouth,  and  leaping  clear  above  the 
weed-tops,  as  was  his  habit,  that  he  suddenly,  at  the 
highest  point  of  a  bound,  turned  his  head  half  about, 
and  stiffened  himself  in  mid-air,  on  the  scent  of  another 
bird.  He  struck  the  ground  standing  staunchly,  his 
eyes  fixed,  his  feet  slightly  spread,  his  back  and  tail  on 
a  line.  The  sportsmen  could  hardly  believe  it  a  genu-: 
ine  point  ;  but  when  the  bird  was  flushed  and  killed, 


102  AT  LO VE'S  EXTREMES. 

they  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  the  sensitive  thor- 
ough-bred, with  that  flawless  admiration  which  men 
reserve  for  beautiful  women  and  sure-nosed  dogs  ;  then 
they  all  applauded. 

Beresford  felt  defeated  at  every  point,  and  in  his 
heart  a  premonition  of  failure  began  to  ferment.  A 
few  days  ago  he  had  met  Agnes  Ransom  at  his  father's 
house  in  Montgomery,  and  had  fallen  a  prey  to  her 
gentle  voice  and  grave,  sweet  face.  Since  then  she 
had  been  constantly  in  his  mind,  her  influence  growing 
upon  him  by  force  of  memory,  some  new  grace  adding 
itself  to  the  impression,  as  each  hour  recalled  a  word, 
a  smile  or  a  glance  unconsciously  treasured  by  him. 
Now  it  all  seemed  slipping  away.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
natural  of  mental  operations,  this  swift  reaching  for- 
ward to  grasp  an  evil  before  it  is  more  than  vaguely 
threatened.  We  call  it  foreboding  :  it  may  be  the  last 
refinement  of  logic.  Beresford  kept  to  himself  the  rest 
of  the  morning,  rather  gloomily  borrowing  of  the 
future.  Something  told  him  that  Agnes  Ransom  and 
Reynolds  were  going  to  be  lovers.  His  enthusiasm 
flagged  and  he  shot  with  less  than  his  usual  care.  On 
the  contrary,  Reynolds  seemed  to  be  attended  by  the 
god  of  good  luck ;  every  chance  seemed  to  favor  him. 
His  self-confidenee  never  once  deserted  him.  He  too 
was  borrowing  of  the  future,  and  what  he  borrowed  was 
very  sweet.  Deep  in  his  heart  nestled  the  precious 
belief  that  Mrs.  Ransom  had  involuntarily — nay,  uncon- 


WITH  DOG  AND  GUN.  103 

sciously — responded  to  his  interest  in  her.  This  gave 
him  nerve  and  alertness  and  force.  When  he  would 
flush  a  bird,  the  loud  hum  of  its  wings  and  the  bullet- 
like  rapidity  of  its  flight  did  not  disturb  his  thought  or 
his  vision.  He  threw  up  his  gun  with  a  promptness  and 
self-possession  that  insured  a  perfect  aim.  When  he 
fired  the  result  was  a  thoroughly  fine,  clean  shot,  stop- 
ping the  game  dead  in  mid-air,  so  that  it  fell  without  a 
flutter.  Yet  all  the  time  his  dream  went  on. 

At  about  half-past  twelve  the  horn  blew  loud  and 
long  from  the  place  where  the  ladies  had  been  sta- 
tioned with  the  luncheon.  Most  of  the  shooters  were 
loth  to  leave  off  the  exciting  sport,  even  though  the 
stirrings  of  hunger  began  to  be  importunate.  The 
mellow  notes  of  invitation  fancifully  executed  by  the 
negro  "bugler"  had  nothing  very  insistent  in  them. 
It  was  a  long  while  before  the  party  began  to  straggle 
back.  Reynolds  was  first  to  reach  the  little  grove 
above  the  spring  near  where  the  ladies  had  been  wait- 
ing and  watching.  He  strode  swiftly  along  with  his 
gun  across  his  shoulder,  his  dogs  following  at  his  heels. 
A  small,  fancifully  twisted  tuft  of  mistletoe  that  he  bore 
in  his  left  hand  was  heavy  with  milk-white  berries  and 
waxen  green  leaves.  His  broad-brimmed  hat  was  far 
back  on  his  head,  leaving  his  swarthy  face  unshaded. 
He  had  almost  touched  Mrs.  Ransom  before  he  saw 
her  where  she  sat  under  a  little  pine  tree  with  her  hands 
listlessly  crossed  in  her  lap,  her  head  uncovered  and  her 


104  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

dark  hair  gleaming  in  strong  contrast  with  the  almost 
colorless  fairness  of  her  face.  He  started  perceptibly 
on  discovering  her,  but  a  smile  came  over  his  face,  as  he 
bowed  and  said : 

"  A  charmingly  airy  place  you  have  :  may  I  join  you  ? 
I  am  really  quite  tired." 

"  Certainly,  there's  ample  room,"  she  half-hesitatingly 
replied,  a  little  color  slowly  warming  her  cheeks,  "but  I 
believe  the  luncheon  is  spread  and  you  must  be  hungry." 

"  No,  I'd  rather  rest.  The  party  is  scattered  in  every 
direction ;  it  will  be  some  time  before  all  are  in. 
What  a  wide  view  from  here — could  you  see  us  shoot- 
ing ?  " 

"Yes,  that  is  MissCrabb  and  Miss  Noble  could — but 
really  I  did  not  look.  It  frightens  me  to  see  a  gun 
fired.  It  is  a  silly  weakness  that  I  can't  overcome." 

He  had  thrown  aside  upon  the  ground  his  old-fash- 
ioned game-bag  stuffed  with  the  dead  birds,  and  laid 
his  gun  across  it.  He  sat  down  a  little  way  from  her, 
in  a  half-reclining  position,  resting  the  weight  of  his 
heavy  shoulders  on  one  elbow. 

"  I  never  before  saw  quails  so  numerous,  I  believe," 
he  said,  twirling  the  spray  of  mistletoe  and  looking  at 
his  favorite  dog  which  had  crouched  panting  before 
him.  "  We  have  had  a  fine  morning's  shoot." 

"  I  am  very  glad.  My  uncle  would  have  been  so  dis- 
appointed if  you  had  failed  to  find  birds,"  she  responded, 
her  voice,  so  sweet,  so  peculiarly  artless  and  tender. 


WITH  DOG  AND  GUN.  105 

"  He  is  a  fervent  sportsman,"  she  continued,  "  and 
sets  great  store  by  his  annual  shooting  party.  Last 
year  the  rain  interfered  and  he  was  terribly  put  out 
about  it." 

"  He  certainly  knows  how  to  manage  an  affair  like 
this,"  Reynolds  said.  "  I  never  saw  any  thing  so  per- 
fectly planned  and  executed.  We  found  the  birds  at 
once  and  have  been  shooting  ever  since.  Nothing 
could  have  been  better." 

He  carelessly  took  up  her  hat,  which  lay  within  easy 
reach  of  him,  and  thrust  the  stem  of  the  mistletoe 
spray  behind  the  broad  band  of  ribbon  that  encircled 
the  crown.  It  was  a  cold  looking  cluster. 

"  Not  a  bad  bit  of  decoration,  is  it  ?  "  he  smilingly 
inquired.  "  It  is  the  most  peculiar  and  beautiful  sprig 
of  mistletoe  I  ever  saw.  See  how  the  smaller  stems 
have  grown  around  each  other  in  fanciful  twists." 

She  made  a  quick,  suddenly-arrested  movement,  as 
if  to  snatch  away  the  frigid-looking  winter  cluster,  then 
glancing  up  into  his  face,  simply  said : 

"  The  hat  is  not  of  a  kind  to  bear  much  embellish- 
ment." 

He  appeared  not  to  hear  her.  In  fact  he  did  not 
hear  her,  or  if  he  did  it  was  merely  her  voice,  not  her 
words.  The  relaxation  from  the  physical  exercise  and 
mental  excitement  of  the  sport  was  so  sweetly  supple- 
mented by  the  influence  of  Mrs.  Ransom's  gentle 
presence  that  he  fell  into  a  mood  as  dreamy  and 


106  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

tender  as  the  air  and  sunshine  around  him.  Some 
vague  stimulus  was  affecting  his  nerves  and  blood, 
suffusing  his  brain  with  a  happiness  as  precious  as  it 
was  undefinable.  Like  the  effect  of  rare  wine,  this 
sudden  mood  seemed  to  be  connected  in  some  way 
with  evil,  as  if  it  were  too  delicious  not  to  have  some 
after-taste  of  the  hidden  poison  it  contained.  He 
knew  and  he  did  not  know  what  it  was  that,  like  a 
skulking  serpent,  shadowy  and  hideously  menacing-on 
account  of  its  uncertain  proportions  as  well  as  on 
account  of  its  venomous  nature,  darted  now  and  again 
through  his  dream.  Mrs.  Ransom,  as  if  in  some  way 
touched  with  the  subtile  essence  of  his  mood,  looked 
at  him  and  felt  a  little  premonition  of  some  new 
experience  in  store  for  her.  At  this  moment  she  and 
Reynolds  were  as  detached  from  all  the  rest  of  the 
world  as  if  they  had  been  the  only  inhabitants  of  an 
undiscovered  island.  They  were  aware  of  this  and  for 
a  few  moments  reveled  in  the  fascination  of  the  experi- 
ence. Somewhere  in  the  conscience  of  each  an  ill- 
defined  protest  against  the  future  stirred  uneasily. 

Reynolds  was  first  to  recover  himself.  Clearing 
his  mind,  as  if  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  he  held  the  hat 
towards  her  with  a  careless  movement. 

"  Put  it  on  and  let  me  see  how  it  will  look,"  he  said. 
"  I  pride  myself  in  my  ability  to  trim  hats." 

If  she  had  a  mind  to  be  offended  she  quickly  changed. 
His  smile  was  so  frank  and  his  eyes  so  bold  and  honest 


WITH  DOG  AND  GUN.  107 

that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  suspect  him  or  to 
refuse  his  light  request.  But  she  could  not  keep  a  pink 
flush  from  rising  into  her  cheeks,  and  her  lips  glowed 
like  cherries.  He  looked  calmly  at  her  for  a  moment, 
then  in  a  perfectly  earnest  way  said  : 

"  I  like  it,  it  becomes  you  :  please  let  it  stay,  will  you  ? 
You  are  lovely  when  you  look  like  that." 

His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  hers  with  a  deep  and  ten- 
der meaning.  Despite  herself  her  heart  leaped  vio- 
lently and  she  grew  pale.  In  her  confusion  she  arose. 
He  saw  the  change  come  over  her  face  and  sprang 
hastily  to  his  feet. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  offended  you,  you  are  not " 

he  earnestly  began. 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  little  laugh. 

"  Nothing  so  serious  as  that,"  she  lightly  exclaimed, 
waving  one  fair  hand.  "  It  is  time  for  us  to  be  looking 
after  the  luncheon." 

She  stooped  and  patted  the  head  of  one  of  the  dogs. 
The  rest  of  the  sportsmen  came  straggling  up  the  incline 
from  the  fields,  one  of  them  singing  a  gay  hunting  carol. 

Reynolds  picked  up  his  bag  and  gun.  There  was  a 
glow  in  his  eyes  and  a  hot  tingle  in  his  veins.  He 
looked  at  the  lithe,  graceful  form,  and  sweet,  earnest 
face  of  the  young  woman,  as  at  an  inestimable  treasure. 
The  flush  had  returned  to  her  cheeks  and  lips,  though 
she  had  struggled  hard  to  overcome  this  incomprehen- 
sible emotion. 


-t. 
1 08  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

"  Why  can't  we  stay  here  a  little  longer?  "  he  asked, 
almost  with  vehemence.  "  I  was  enjoying  it  so  much. 
There's  no  dire  necessity  for  going,  just  at  this  moment, 
is  there  ?  " 

She  fixed  her  eyes  on  his  for  a  second,  then  lowered 
them  and  turned  half  away.  It  was  a  mere  glance,  a 
flash,  but  it  was  an  involuntary  confession  that  she 
understood  his  feelings  and  did  not  dare  to  give  them 
opportunity.  What  further  meaning  it  conveyed  he 
could  only  wish  he  knew. 

"  Yonder  is  uncle,"  she  murmured.  "  Poor  old  man,  I 
know  he's  tired  !  "  and  she  almost  ran  to  meet  General 
DeKay. 

Reynolds  watched  her  go  tripping  down  the  gentle 
slope,  through  the  stunted  wire  grass  and  tufts  of  sedge, 
wearing  on  her  hat  his  spray  of  mistletoe.  She  looked 
like  a  mere  girl,  slim  and  svelt,  whose  movements  were 
as  light  and  free  as  the  wind.  She  had  won  over  his 
dog  and  it  trotted  away  beside  her,  looking  up  into  her 
face.  He  felt  his  heart  throbbing  heavily,  and  some- 
thing like  a  tender  mist  gathered  in  his  eyes.  An 
almost  uncontrollable  desire  to  go  swiftly  after  her  and 
clasp  her  in  his  arms  took  possession  of  him.  Would 
he  ever  get  so  near  her  again  ?  Would  she  ever  again 
give  him  a  look  like  that  which  was  now  pictured  so 
vividly  in  his  memory?  Ah,  those  serious,  tender, 
earnest  eyes,  that  low,  gentle,  haunting  voice !  Would 
those  sweet,  half-sad  lips  ever  meet  his  with  a  kiss  of 


WITH  DOG  AND  GUN,  109 

unquenchable  love?  He  stood  there  actually  trem- 
bling with  the  stress  of  his  suddenly-generated  emo- 
tions, an  underglow  of  passion  showing  in  his  bronzed 
face. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LUNCHEON  AL  FRESCO. 

IT  is  one  of  the  distinctive  features  of  life  in  our 
Southern  States,  this  keen  pursuit  and  enjoyment 
of  field  sports.  The  climate  favors  every  thing  of  the 
sort,  and  the  tastes  of  the  people,  as  well  as  the  leisure 
which  has  always  been  their  inheritance,  keep  alive  a 
zest  for  out-door  accomplishments,  amongst  which 
shooting  is  accorded  the  chief  place.  It  has  sometimes 
been  hinted  that,  so  zealous  are  they  in  this  direction, 
if  small  game  chances  to  be  scarce,  they  will  on  occa- 
sion shoot  at  each  other,  in  order  not  to  fail  of  diligent 
practice ;  but  no  man  who  has  ever  enjoyed  the  cordial 
hospitality  and  generous  freedom  of  a  low-country 
plantation  in  the  quail  season,  will  be  likely  to  recall 
any  but  the  charmingest  recollections  of  the  occasion. 
The  open  season  for  small  game  comes  there  in  the 
most  delightful  part  of  the  year,  when  to  be  out  of 
doors  is,  of  itself,  as  exhilarating  as  a  surf-bath  in  sum- 
mer. From  the  old,  wide-winged,  airy  plantation 
house  and  its  profuse  cheer  and  comfort,  one  goes  forth 
into  fields,  basking  in  more  than  Indian-summer  dreami- 
ness and  warmth.  The  air  is  fresh  and  pungent,  the 


L  UNCHEON  AL  FRESCO.  Ill 

ground  is  dry,  the  prospect  is  liberal  and  inviting. 
There  is  no  sense  of  limitation  to  the  rambler's  opera- 
tions ;  he  feels  that,  like  the  poet's  brook,  he  can  go  on 
forever. 

By  gentlemen  of  robust  tastes,  such  entertainment  as 
that  afforded  by  General  DeKay's  shooting-party  is  of 
a  kind  greatly  enjoyed  and  rarely  obtainable.  The 
game  had  been  carefully  preserved  and  the  shooting 
area  was  practically  unlimited,  which,  without  the  aid 
of  perfect  weather  and  a  rare  hospitality,  would  have 
made  the  mere  liberty  to  shoot  joy  enough  for  the 
enthusiastic  sportsmen.  But  General  DeKay  and  his 
wife  knew  how  to  entertain  in  that  off-hand,  natural 
way  which  is  peculiarly  gratifying  to  men  bent  on  such 
vigorous  pleasures  as  field-sports  give.  Substantial 
viands,  good  wine,  fine  tobacco  and  freedom  from  con- 
ventional absurdities  around  the  board  were  supple- 
mented by  such  cordial  watchfulness  of  their  needs  as 
made  the  guests  feel  "at  home  "  indeed. 

The  luncheon  spread  on  a  smooth  plat  by  the  spring 
and  presided  over  by  Mrs.  Ransom  was  discussed  in 
no  mincing  mood  by  the  quail-shooters,  while  they 
talked  over  the  excellent  sport  of  the  morning  with 
frequent  eulogies  of  their  host's  superior  manner  of 
planning  and  directing  it. 

Reynolds'  shooting  was  heartily  praised,  and  Ruby, 
his  dog,  got  such  eloquent  tributes  as  never  before  fell 
to  an  unsuspecting  setter.  Miss  Crabb  could  not 


112  AT  LO  VE'S  EXTREMES. 

refrain  from  openly  making  notes,  nor  could  she  repress 
a  desire  to  ask  questions.  She  was  embarrassed  with 
the  riches  of  material  that  fell  about  her.  She  had  vis- 
ions of  a  letter  that  should  make  both  her  and  her 
paper  famous. 

Physically  as  well  as  mentally,  Miss  Crabb  was  in 
strong  contrast  with  the  rest  of  the  company;  her 
voice,  too,  her  pronunciation,  her  method  of  intona- 
tion, and,  indeed,  all  the  salients  of  her  personality, 
cut  with  an  almost  barbaric  eclat  through  this  smooth 
social  atmosphere.  At  every  turn  she  made  herself 
felt  as  a  foreign  quantity.  She  was  obviously  busy ; 
she  had  a  purpose,  an  ulterior  object ;  she  was  plying 
a  trad*e,  and  a  trade,  by  the  way,  of  which  she  was  very 
proud.  So  nearly  as  words  may  express  it,  she  was 
pleasingly  disagreeable.  Her  companions  were  aware 
that  she  aroused  in  them  a  dual  sentiment  wherein 
pity  was  scarcely  separated  from  a  low  grade  of 
admiration.  That  she  was  a  novice  in  newspaper  work 
could  be  detected  by  the  most  unskillful  observer,  and 
like  all  novices,  she  was  an  enthusiast.  Evidently  she 
regarded  gathering  notes  as  the  chief  purpose  of  life 
for  which  she  would  make  any  sacrifice.  She  was 
nervous  and  fussy,  quick,  keen,  ready,  anxious  to 
make  every  thing  serve  her  a  turn.  Hearing  the 
gentlemen  discussing  the  interesting  features  of  the 
morning's  sport,  she  plied  them  with  such  a  volley  of 
questions  as  taxed  their  agility  to  answer.  Meantime 


L  UNCHEON  AL  FRESCO.  1 1 3 

her  pencil  danced  recklessly  over  the  pages  of  the 
little  red  book.  The  prospect  of  doing  something 
unique  intoxicated  her  and  made  her  enunciation 
still  more  rapid.  Reynolds'  shooting  and  the  splendid 
achievement  of  his  dog  were  to  be  the  chief  points  of 
her  report  and  she  spared  no  pains  to  get  the  details 
in  full.  She  looked  upon  men  and  men's  doings  as  of 
much  more  importance  and  interest  than  women  and 
women's  acts ;  she  was  not  quite  sure  that  even  dogs 
were  not  rated  by  the  world  as  rather  more  noticeable 
than  women.  Secretly  she  harbored  an  ambition  to 
show  the  world  what  a  woman  could  do  if  once  she 
had  got  clear  of  the  meshes  of  feminine  restraints. 
Why  shouldn't  she  report  a  quail-shoot  just  as  well  as 
a  man  ?  At  all  events,  she  was  bound  to  try,  and  so 
she  went  nimbly  at  the  task. 

"  It's  unusual,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  inquired  of  Mr.  Tom 
Boardman,  a  merry  youth  just  graduated  from  a  Ten- 
nessee college,  and  brim  full  of  sport-lingo,  "  It's  unus- 
ual, isn't  it,  for  a  dog  to  stiffen  in  the  air  on  a  point 
with  a  bird  in  its  mouth  ?  " 

She  said  this  all  so  glibly  and  earnestly,  with  a 
slight  sideways  turn  of  her  head,  that  the  youth 
came  near  choking  over  his  effort  to  smother  a  wild 
laugh. 

"  Very  unusual,"  he  answered  in  a  suffering  tone, 
"  very." 

She  made  some  rapid  notes  in  the  red  book.     Then 


114  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

looking  up,  with  the  end  of  the  pencil  against  her  teeth, 
said : 

"  And  he  struck  the  ground,  stanch  on  his  nose,  at 
a  half-turn  ;  is  that  right?  " 

Mr.  Tom  Boardman's  eyes  suddenly  widened  and 
then  his  nerve  failed  him.  He  laughed  uproariously 
in  spite  of  himself ;  but  to  his  great  relief  Miss  Crabb 
did  not  take  offense.  She  joined  him  quite  heartily  in 
his  merriment  at  her  own  expense. 

"  It's  very  interesting,"  she  added,  "  and  I  must  get 
it  right.  Give  it  to  me  slowly  in  technical  language, 
so  that  I  can  take  it  down.  I  guess  I  got  some  of  the 
terms  mixed — absurdly,  too,  didn't  I  ?  " 

He  caught  a  glimpse,  so  to  speak,  of  the  girl's  charm- 
ing kindness  of  heart  and  evident  sincerity  of  purpose, 
which  instantly  won  upon  him.  He  changed  without 
appearing  to  change  and  took  great  pains  to  give  her  the 
information  she  desired,  volunteering  besides  to  detail  a 
number  of  the  most  striking  incidents  of  the  morning. 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  try  writing  a  novel  and  weave 
into  it  something  of  this  sort  ?"  he  asked.  "  It  seems 
to  me  that  you  might  make  a  lively  story  of  such 
materials  as  you  are  gathering." 

"And  if  I  should  write  one,"  she  answered,  her  face 
growing  serious,  "  I  couldn't  get  it  printed." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  publishers  don't  want  provincial  stories, 
they  are  not  in  vogue  now." 


L  UNCHEON  AL  FRESCO.  1 1 5 

"  Ah,  well,  but  make  it  so  fresh  and  true  to  life  and 
so  breezy  and  interesting  generally,  that  the  publishers 
couldn't  refuse.  I  know  you  could." 

"That's  a  kind  compliment,  but  I'm  too  well  posted 
to  be  carried  away.  A  novel,  now-a-days,  must  be 
what  they  call  analytical,  a  fine-spun  exemplification  of 
an  author's  power  to  lay  bare  the  motives  of  his.  char- 
acters in  doing  what  they  do.  Plots  are  abolished, 
stories  ignored." 

"But  I  like  stories,  genuine  love-stories,  with  a  smack 
of  adventure  and  lots  of  incidents,"  he  earnestly 
exclaimed.  "  What's  the  interest  in  all  this  long- 
drawn,  tedious  nonsense  about  a  common-place  Ameri- 
can young  woman's  reasons  for  refusing  an  English 
nobleman,  or  about  why  a  European  patrician  of  doubt- 
ful morals  could  not  condescend  to  marry  a  good,  free, 
sweet  American  girl  ?  " 

Miss  Crabb  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"  But  the  critics  have  decided  against  you,  and  what 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  I,  too,  like  stories, and 
so,  I  think,  does  almost  every  body,  but  they  are  out  of 
fashion.  All  the  thrifty  writers  go  in  for  the  analytical 
novel  now.  It  don't  make  much  difference  what  your 
characters  do,  so  that  you  are  able  to  dissect  their 
motives  for  so  doing." 

She  sighed  regretfully  as  she  ended,  as  if  the  subject 
had  awakened  sad  memories. 

"  Well,  if  I  were  a  critic,"  said  he,  with  alight  laugh, 


Il6  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

"  I'd  give  your  story  a  genuine  indorsement  of  author- 
ity." 

"  No,  you  wouldn't,"  she  responded.  "You're  a  man 
and  you'd  do  as  the  rest.  You'd  say :  Poor  girl,  she'd 
better  be  washing  dishes  or  teaching  school." 

Boardman  laughed. 

Beresford  saw  the  mistletoe  spray  in  Mrs.  Ransom's 
hat,  and,  not  dreaming  of  any  one  else  than  herself  hav- 
ing put  it  there,  asked  where  she  had  got  it. 

"Mr.  Reynolds  brought  it  from  somewhere  in  his 
rambles  this  morning,"  she  said.  She  took  off  her  hat 
and  plucked  out  the  sprig,  but  after  hesitating  a 
moment,  put  it  back  again. 

Beresford  received  the  blow  bravely,  and,  like  the 
true  gentleman  that  he  was,  accepted  the  situation 
without  apparent  embarrassment.  Love  at  first  sight 
is  a  fruit  of  warm  climates,  and  passionate  souls  seize 
it  rapturously ;  but  love,  even  under  a  Southern  sky, 
sometimes  turns  to  ashes  before  the  swiftest  lips  may 
reach  it. 

"  Mr.  Reynolds  has  won  the  victory  to-day,"  he  said, 
"  and  under  the  ancient  rules  has  the  right  to  choose 
where  he  will  have  the  crown  rest.  You  wear  it  like  a 
queen." 

There  was  something  behind  his  light  manner  and 
lighter  words  that  touched  her.  She  did  not  rightly 
construe  him,  guessing  that  he  was  simply  striving  to 
hide  the  chagrin  of  his  first  defeat  in  the  field. 


L  UNCHEON  AL  FRESCO.  117 

"Victor  to-day,  vanquished  to-morrow,"  was  her 
quick  rejoinder ;  "  there  is  a  good  deal  of  mere  chance 
in  such  things,  I  suppose.  No  doubt  to-day  was  one  of 
your  unlucky  days." 

"  Yes,  but  I  must  admit  that  I  never  have  equaled 
Mr.  Reynolds'  score  of  this  morning,  so  I  can  not  get 
any  comfort  out  of  your  gracious  suggestion,"  he 
frankly  exclaimed.  "He  is  a  better  shot  than  I — the 
best  I  ever  saw." 

"  My  uncle  says  so  too,"  she  responded,  "  and  he  is 
enthusiastic  about  the  dog,  the  one  that  did  the  fine  act." 

"  Superb,  superb  !  "  he  rejoined  with  emphasis.  "  I 
would  put  that  dog  against  the  whole  world  of  dogs." 
He  found  a  sort  of  comfort  in  praising  his  rival  and  his 
rival's  dog.  It  was  a  species  of  self-torture  that  dead- 
ened for  the  time  the  pain  of  his  defeat. 

Miss  Beresford,  who  was  so  situated  that  she  could 
not  avoid  hearing  this  conversation,  glanced  at  her 
brother  with  a  repressed  resentment  in  her  eyes.  She 
felt  that  he  was  not  doing  himself  justice ;  that  he  was, 
in  fact,  failing  to  assert  himself  as  a  true  Beresford,  a 
name  that  had  never  before  tamely  accepted  and 
acknowledged  defeat. 

"  Give  me  your  score,  Mr.  Beresford,  please,"  said 

Miss  Crabb,  coming  forward  with  her  book  and  pencil. 

"  Thirty-three,"  he  promptly  answered.     His  sister's 

face  flushed  with  anger.     She  turned  to  him  and  said 

under  her  breath : 


1 18  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

11  She  shall  not  do  that  —  she  shall  not  publish 
it!" 

"  Pshaw ! "  he  almost  whispered,  "  don't  allow  your- 
self to  show  any  feeling.  Don't  make  a  scene.  Can't 
you  feel  the  delicacy  of  my  situation  ?  Be  quiet, 
there's  a  good  girl." 

Miss  Crabb  had  hurried  away  to  where  Reynolds  was 
seated.  She  was  intent  upon  getting  the  precise  status 
of  things. 

"  Oh,  you  are  way  ahead,"  she  exclaimed,  in  her  clear 
high  tones.  Then  she  seized  the  wreath  of  bay  leaves 
twined  by  Mrs.  Ransom  and  forthwith  laid  it  upon  his 
head. 

•"To  the  victor  belongs  the  crown!"  she  added, 
laughing  merrily.  "  See,  Mrs.  Ransom,  I've  put  your 
handiwork  to  noble  use  !  " 

She  was  so  innocently  playful  in  her  manner,  that  no 
one  could  deem  her  act  a  rude  one.  It  seemed  almost 
fitting,  at  least  permissible,  in  view  of  the  freedom  of 
this  little  out-door  convocation.  But  Reynolds  lightly 
doffed  the  circlet. 

"  I  am  too  earnest  a  democrat  to  wear  a  crown  of  any 
sort  with  due  dignity,"  he  laughingly  said  ;  "  besides," 
he  added,  "  my  dog  is  the  hero,  not  I." 

"  Truth,  every  word  of  it !  "  cried  Moreton,  balanc- 
ing a  glass  of  wine  on  the  tips  of  his  fingers.  "  Your 
tastes  are  most  commendably  plebeian  and  proper.  If 
Miss  Crabb  will  but  let  me  describe  your  mountain 


L UNCHEON  AL  FRESCO.  1 1 9 

hermitage  she  can  fully  appreciate  your  sturdy  democ- 
racy. 

"  Don't  do  that,  Moreton,  if  you  love  me  ;  my  cabin 
is  my  castle  and  my  sanctuary,"  Reynolds  answered  in 
mock  earnestness. 

It  was  an  unlucky  turn  in  the  thoughtless  conversa- 
tion, for  it  sent  a  current  of  uneasiness  through  the 
mind  of  Reynolds  that  made  it  very  hard  for  him  to 
keep  up  his  spirits  to  the  level  of  the  occasion.  The 
mere  mention  of  those  six  years  of  mountain  seclusion 
was  enough  to  awaken  a  whole  world  of  distressing 
memories.  Things  known  only  to  himself  came  up  to 
darken  his  mind.  Miss  Crabb's  restless  energy  and 
journalistic  enterprise  would  not,  however,  allow  him 
long  to  grope  among  his  carefully  hidden  secrets. 

"  Now  a  thought  strikes  me,"  she  exclaimed,  as  if 
addressing  the  entire  company ;  "  can  any  one  here 
sketch  the  least  bit  in  the  world  ?  What  a  fresh  and 
charming  illustrated  paper  the  material  I  am  collecting 
would  make  for  one  of  the  magazines,  if  I  could  get 
some  truthful  and  spirited  sketches  from  which  an  illus- 
trator could  take  his  cue !  "  She  rolled  the  end  of  her 
pencil  in  her  mouth  and  awaited  an  answer. 

"  Mr.  Reynolds  is  an  artist,"  said  Moreton  with  a 
sidelong  glance  at  his  friend. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad !  Won't  you  help  me,  Mr.  Rey- 
nolds? Just  a  half  dozen  or  so  of  striking  local  tran- 
scripts— a  view  of  General  DeKay's  house,  a  scene 


1 20  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

or  two  from  the  quail  shoot,  some  character  studies 
and " 

"You  overwhelm  me,"  said  Reynolds,  his  face  actu- 
ally showing  the  truth  of  his  assertion.  "  I  never  could 
trust  myself  to  undertake  such  a  commission ;  and 
besides,"  he  added  with  a  tone  of  suddenly  discovered 
relief,  "  I  have  no  sketching  materials  with  me." 

Miss  Crabb  became  thoughtful,  tapping  her  forehead 
with  the  back  of  her  note-book.  Mrs.  Ransom  came 
to  the  rescue  with  a  request  for  her  to  help  pass  coffee 
to  the  gentlemen.  The  negro  attendant  had  brewed  a 
pot  of  Java,  the  aromatic  fragrance  of  which  had  been 
for  some  minutes  on  the  air. 

It  would,  indeed,  have  been  worth  while  for  an  artist 
to  have  caught  the  impression  of  the  scene  just  then. 
The  men  carelessly  standing  or  sitting,  with  the  young 
women  ministering  and  the  dogs  lounging  idly  around 
the  outskirts  of  the  group ;  the  soft  atmosphere,  the 
broad,  airy  landscape  with  the  green-fringed  silvery 
river  winding  through  the  middle  distance,  the  slum- 
berous quietude  and  the  deep,  dark  forest  rising  yonder 
like  a  wall. 

After  coffee  the  gentlemen  went  aside  to  light  pipes 
and  cigars.  The  afternoon  was  well  advanced  before 
General  DeKay  proposed  going  to  the  field  again. 
Now  and  then  a  quail  had  been  heard  whistling  in  the 
distance  that  far-reaching,  energetic  call  of  a  straggler 
to  his  scattered  companions.  A  momentarily  freshen- 


LUNCHEON  AL  FRESCO.  121 

ing  breeze  was  fast  brushing  from  the  sky  the  film  of 
fleece  clouds. 

The  ladies  voted  that  they  were  satisfied  with  what 
they  had  seen,  wished  the  sportsmen  a  merry  afternoon 
and  were  driven  back  across  the  rustling  sedge  fields  to 
the  old  mansion. 

Reynolds  turned,  after  he  had  walked  some  distance, 
and  looked  back.  The  wagon  containing  the  ladies 
was  slowly  trundling  over  a  little  swell  in  the  field. 
Mrs.  Ransom's  face  was,  he  thought,  turned  toward 
him.  Involuntarily  he  took  off  his  hat  and  waved  it  in 
the  air.  Then  he  saw,  or  imagined  he  saw,  something 
white  flutter  a  response  from  the  group  in  the  wagon. 
This  little  incident  cost  him  quite  dear,  for  he  failed  to 
note,  on  turning  about,  that  his  dogs  had  come  to  a 
stand  in  the  weeds  near  by.  A  quail  sprang  up  from 
his  very  toes  and  whirred  away  quartering  to  his  right, 
going  like  a  bullet.  He  fired  and  missed.  Moreton 
took  the  bird  on  a  cross  shot,  stopping  it  beautifully. 

Reynolds'  dogs  .looked  at  him  with  a  sneaking  leer 
in  their  eyes,  as  if  they  felt  the  disgrace  of  their  mas- 
ter. 

"  That's  one  debt  paid  !  "  Moreton  cried.  "  Credit 
me,  will  you?  " 

Reynolds  felt  no  interest  in  the  sport.  His  vision 
was  introverted,  his  ears  were  full  of  sweet  sounds,  his 
heart  was  beating  time  to  the  melody  of  his  day-dream. 
He  went  down  by  the  river  and  lay  upon  an  old  mossy 


122  A  T  LO  VE  'S  EXTREMES. 

drift  log,  against  one  end  of  which  the  light  current 
rippled  sweetly.     There  was  a  windy  rustle  in  the  reeds 
and  a  broad,  washing  murmur  came  from  the  water. 
He  could  see  but  a  little  distance  along  the  river  surface 
either  way,  owing  to  a  short  bend,  and  the  tall  brakes 
on  the  banks  shut  out  all  else  save  an  occasional  report 
from  the  guns  of  his  more  enthusiastic  companions. 
His  dogs  came  and  lay  down  near  him,  licking  their 
muscular  legs  and  glossy  sides,  or  nibbling  at  an  occa- 
sional burr  in  their  hair.     So  all  the  rest  of  the  after- 
noon he  did  not  fire  a  shot.     It  was  nearly  sundown 
when  he  again  climbed  up  the  river-bank  and  turned 
towards  the  house,  with  not  a  bird  to  show  for  the  two 
or  three  hours  spent  with  dogs  and  gun.     But  what  to 
him  were  the  poor  trophies  of  a  quail-shoot,  now  that 
his  passionate  nature  was  stirred  to  its  depths   with  a 
love   whose  fullness   and    intensity  left    no  room  for 
another  feeling  or  thought  ?    To  be  near  Agnes  Ran- 
som, to  hear  her  voice,  to  gaze  into  her  eyes,  to  bring 
the  whole  force  of  his  will  and  the  fullest  power  of  his 
eloquence  to  bear  upon  her,  to  win  her,  to  take  her, 
to  triumphantly  hold  her  as  his  own,  these  were  the 
desires,  the  purposes  surging  about  in  his  breast.     He 
walked  slowly  back  towards  the  DeKay  mansion,  taking 
no  heed  of  the  beauties  of  earth  or  sky.     It  was  noth- 
ing to  him  that  the  low-hanging  sun  flung  a  glory  over 
the  distant  wood  and  touched  the  roof  of  the  old  house 
as  if  with  a  flame. 


CHAPTER  X. 

MILLY  INQUIRES. 

ONE  day  in  the  time  of  Reynolds'  absence  at  Gen- 
eral DeKay's,  White  came  down  to  Birmingham 
in  his  cart  and  Milly  insisted  so  strenuously  on  accom- 
panying him,  that  she  had  her  way.  This  led  to  an 
adventure  of  a  sort  likely  to  impress  itself  deeply  in  the 
mind  of  an  unsophisticated  girl  of  the  mountains.  She 
had  given  no  especial  reason  for  wishing  to  visit  the 
city,  but  White  shrewdly  guessed  that  her  desire  to 
know  something  of  the  whereabouts  of  Reynolds  was 
the  motive  impelling  her  to  so  unusual  an  undertaking, 
for  heretofore  she  had  always  been  very  averse  to  going 
into  Birmingham. 

When  they  reached  town  White  gave  Milly  a  pit- 
tance of  money  and  said  : 

"  You  go  ter  some  store,  Milly,  an'  buy  ye  some 
candy  er  a  apple  er  somethin'  er  other.  When  ye  git 
tired  er  foolin'  eround  ye  kin  go  back  ter  the  cyart  an' 
stay  ther'  tell  I  come." 

She  took  the  small  pieces  of  silver  without  a  word 
and  allowed  her  father  to  desert  her.  She  suspected 
that  he  meant  to  deceive  her  and  go  off  to  some  gam- 


124  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

bling  den  ;  but  she  did  not  care.  Her  desires  all  cen- 
tered in  finding  Reynolds  or  hearing  something  about 
him. 

She  strolled  about  from  place  to  place  in  the  street, 
innocently  staring  into  men's  faces  and  quite  as  inno- 
cently receiving,  without  shrinking,  such  brutal  leers 
and  winks  as  certain  of  the  bejeweled  and  over-dressed 
loafers  bestowed  in  return.  She  went  into  a  store  now 
and  then,  but,  instead  of  asking  for  any  article  of  mer- 
chandise, she  invariably  propounded  the  question  : 

"  I  wanted  ter  ax  ef  ye  hed  seed  any  thing  o'  John 
Reynolds  'bout  this  yer  town  ?  " 

She  spoke  with  such  confiding  earnestness  of  manner 
and  with  such  an  appealing  light  in  her  eyes  and  such 
music  in  her  voice,  that  she  attracted  immediate  atten- 
tion from  whomever  she  addressed.  She  received 
respectful  answers  from  the  tradesmen.  None  of  them 
knew  any  thing  about  Reynolds,  but  some  of  them, 
touched  in  a  sweet,  indefinite  way  by  the  inexpressible 
half-lisp  of  her  childish  voice,  and  feeling  the  influence 
of  her  strange,  yearning  face  and  graceful  form,  tried 
to  draw  her  into  conversation,  only  to  discover  that  she 
became  dumb  so  soon  as  she  learned  that  they  could 
not  give  her  what  she  sought.  She  turned  solemnly 
away  from  each  one  and  left  him  to  struggle  out  of  the 
bewilderment  she  had  unconsciously  cast  over  his 
mind. 

With   absolutely  no   knowledge   of    the    difference 


MILL  Y  INQ  UIRES.  1 2  5 

between  a  reputable  business  street  and  a  row  of  dives, 
she  drifted  here  and  there  until  finally  she  met  a  man 
whom  she  at  once  recognized  as  Moreton,  although  in 
fact  he  was  a  drummer  for  a  wholesale  liquor  house  of 
Atlanta.  She  placed  herself  resolutely  in  his  way,  as 
he  was  about  to  pass  her,  and  said  : 

"Air  ye  the  feller  'at  come  to  our  house  thet  day?" 

The  man,  a  tall  fellow,  not  unlike  Moreton  physi- 
cally, looked  down  at  this  pleasing  apparition,  and  for 
want  of  better  response,  said  : 

"  What  day  ?  " 

"  Thet  air  day  'at  hit  rained  so,  an'  ye  tuck  dinner, 
an'  staid  all  day.  Don't  ye  'member?" 

"  Can't  recollect  you,  sis :  seems  like  I  ought  to 
though,  by  George.  What's  your  name?"  Retook 
hold  of  the  brim  of  her  coarse  hat  and  lifting  it  a  little 
peeped  under  at  her  face,  now  suddenly  pink  with 
blushing. 

"  Ye  know — I'm  Mr.  White's  girl,  up  ther'  wher'  ye 
fotch  the  turkeys  thet  air  rainy  day." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do  recollect  mighty  well  now,  certainly. 
I  fetched  the  turkeys,  yes.  You  are  White's  girl.  I'm 
real  glad  to  see  you.  How's  the  folks  ?  "  said  he,  glibly. 

"  We're  all  well,"  responded  Milly.  "  I  wushed  to 
ax  ye  ef  ye've  seed  John  Reynolds  lately." 

"John  Reynolds — John  Reynolds,  which  John  Rey- 
nolds do  you  mean?  "he  inquired,  with  a  deceptive 
'show  of  having  a  dozen  men  of  that  name  in  his  mind. 


126  AT  LOVE  'S  EXTREMES. 

"  Hit  air  Colonel  Reynolds,  es  pap  calls  'im,  an'  he 
lives  at  our  house,  an'  ye  know  ye  said  he  wer'  yer  bes' 
frien'  an'  'at  he  wer'  a  grand  feller.  Don't  ye  'member  ? 
Well,  I  wush  to  see  him." 

"  Any  thing  of  a  furious  rush  about  seeing  him  right 
off — eh  ?  "  He  stooped  low  enough  to  look  into  her 
strange  beautiful  eyes.  "  What  do  you  want  to  see 
him  about?" 

She  shrank  uneasily  and  made  no  answer.  Her  pink 
lips  quivered  slightly,  as  a  flower's  petals  do  when  one 
breathes  upon  them.  The  man's  breath  was  foul  with 
the  fumes  of  whisky. 

"Oh,  if  it's  private — if  it's  a  secret  between  you," 
he  resumed,  "  why,  of  course,  I  don't  intend  to  pry 
in ;  but  as  Reynolds  and  I  are  chums,  I  don't  see  why 
you  won't  tell  me." 

"  I  wushed  to  see  'im,  that's  all,"  she  responded  in  a 
plaintive,  hesitating  voice,  putting  a  finger  in  her 
mouth  and  scraping  the  toe  of  one  coarse  shoe  back 
and  forth  on  the  ground. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  that  he's  rather  keeping  sort  o'  shady 
from  you,  just  now,"  said  the  man  with  a  brutal  smile. 
"  He's  got  him  another  girl  now,  he's  not  caring  about 
seeing  you  very  soon.  I  know  what  he's  up  to." 

She  shot  a  quick,  almost  wild  look  into  his  face, 
stared  at  him  a  moment  and  then  slowly  inquired : 

"  What  air  yer  name  ?  " 

He  actually  reddened  with  confusion,  and  was  at  a 


MILL  y  SAfQ  UIRES.  127 

loss  what  to  answer.     He  saw  that  she  had  discovered 
his  deceit. 

•  "  I  was  just  joking,"  he  managed  to  say.  "  Never 
mind  my  jokes.  If  you'll  come  with  me  I'll  take  you 
to  Reynolds.  He's  just  down  here  a  little  ways. 
Come  on,  I'll  show  you." 

"  YeY  not  thet  man — ye  Y 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing :  I  was  just  fooling  with  you. 
Don't  get  mad.  If  you  get  mad  you'll  not  have  any 
luck.  Come  on  if  you  want  to  see  Reynolds." 

Her  eyes  had  assumed  a  vague,  distressed  look  and 
her  lips  quivered  again. 

"  I  wush  ye'd  go  tell  'im  'at  I  wush  he'd  come  on 
home,"  she  said,  glancing  uneasily  around,  as  if  afraid 
that  some  one  would  approach. 

"  Guess  you'd  better  go  see  him  and  surprise  him  like. 
He  won't  be  expecting  you.  He's  just  down  here  a 
little  piece.  Come  on,  if  you  are  going,  I  can'k  fool 
around  all  day,"  the  man  urged,  an  ugly  gleam  getting 
into  his  eyes  and  his  face  showing  its  coarsest  lines. 

"  John  wouldn't  like  hit  ef  I'd  go  ther'  wher'  he  is," 
she  responded.  "  I  hain't  got  no  business  a  goin' 
down  ther'.  I'd  be  erbleeged  ef  ye'd  tell  'im " 

11  Tell  him  nothing,"  gruffly  rejoined  the  man.  "  Come 
along,  it's  not  far,  he'll  be  all  right ;  he's  a  good  fellow 
and  not  going  to  make  any  fuss — come  on.  I'll  stand 
between  you  and  all  danger — come  on." 

"  I  don't  wanter  go,  an'  I  haint  er  goin',  an'  ye  mought 


128  AT  LOVE'S  EX TXEMES. 

as  well  quit  er  talkin',"  she  almost  doggedly  replied, 
taking  a  step  or  two  back  from  him.  He  followed 
her  with  a  devilish  leer  in  his  eyes. 

The  street  was  a  disreputable  one  and  there  was  a 
narrow  alley  near  where  they  stood. 

"  He's  not  caring  any  thing  about  you  now ;  you 
needn't  be  so  shy,  I'm  not  going  to  do  you  any  harm. 
I'm  the  best  friend  you've  got." 

Her  strange,  troubled  face  brightened  a  little. 

"  Then,  ef  ye'r'  my  friend,"  she  quickly  said,  "  go  an' 
tell  'im  at  I  wush  he'd  please  kem  home." 

The  man  laughed,  looked  at  her  quizzically  for  a  time, 
and  then  in  a  tone,  half  of  vexation  and  half  of  amuse- 
ment, said  : 

"  Well,  if  you  aren't  the  dangedest  curiosity  I  ever 
saw  !  You  ought  to  travel  with  Barnum." 

He  gazed  at  her  intently  from  head  to  foot,  his  face 
softening. 

"  You've  no  business  trotting  around  loose  in  these 
suburbs,"  he  muttered,  more  to  himself  than  to  her, 
then  quite  solus  he  added :  "  She's  cracked  :  she's  an 
idiot." 

Her  vague  troubled  look  now  appealed  to  the  other 
side  of  the  man's  nature.  "  Do  you  know  where  you 
are?  This  is  no  place  for  you  ;  where  do  you  live?" 
He  put  his  inquiries  in  a  voice  so  different  from  that 
half-wheedling,  half  brutal  one  hitherto  used,  that  she 
instantly  looked  up  with  a  gleam  of  trust  in  her  eyes. 


MILL  Y  /A'<2  U1RES.  1 2  9 

"  Where  is  your  home  ?  "  he  continued. 

"  Over  to  the  tother  side  o'  the  mounting,  at  Mr. 
White's,"  she  frankly  answered. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  doing  down  here  among  these 
saloons  and  dives?  Why  don't  you  go  home  and  stay 
with  your  mother  ?  This  is  a  bad  place  for  you." 

"  I  hain't  er  feared,"  she  said ;  "  I  er  a  goin'  down  yer 
ter  pap's  cyart.  Pap  an'  me  we  kem  ter  town  tergether. 
I  jist  stopped  ter  ask  yer  ef  ye'd  seed  John,  that  wer' 
all  I  keered  about  ye.  Ye  needn't  er  be  a  frettin'  yer- 
self  'bout  me." 

The  man  chuckled  in  a  puzzled  way  and  walked  on, 
muttering  to  himself  something  about  the  "  dangedest 
prettiest  idiot  "  that  he  ever  saw.  He  looked  back  a 
time  or  two  to  watch  Milly  as  she  carelessly  strolled 
along,  her  petite  form  showing  its  lithe,  wild  grace,  with 
every  movement  and  her  wisp  of  yellowish  hair  shining 
under  her  hat  and  straying  down  over  the  back  of  her 
loose  cotton  gown.  His  eyes  had  something  of  the 
wistful  glare  with  which  a  cat  gazes  at  an  escaped  bird. 

Milly  found  her  father's  cart  under  a  tree  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  the  one  kind-eyed,  long-horned  little 
ox  contentedly  ruminating  between  the  rude  shafts. 

"  W'y,  ole  Ben,  air  ye  tired  er  waitin'  ?  "  she  exclaimed, 
patting  the  bony  little  fellow  on  the  shoulder,  "  we'll 
be  er  goin'  soon  es  pap  comes,  won't  we,  Ben  ?" 

She  climbed  into  the  shallow  box  of  the  cart  and  sat 
down  on  its  bottom  with  her  head  thrown  back  so  that 


130  AT  LO VE 'S  EXTREMES. 

she  could  gaze  up  through  the  tree-tops  at  the  bright 
blue  sky.  A  breeze,  cool  and  sweet,  was  stealing  down 
from  the  mountains  rustling  the  few  dry  leaves  that  still 
clung  to  the  branches  overhead.  She  sang,  in  a  thin 
childish  falsetto,  snatches  of  the  simple-  hymn-tunes 
she  had  caught  from  her  parents  ;  but  she  got  the  \vords 
together  in  a  meaningless  confusion.  Her  conception 
of  a  song  of  any  sort  rose  no  higher  than  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  pleasing  sounds  of  the  voice  sing- 
ing it. 

For  a  long  while  she  waited  patiently,  now  and  then 
glancing  down  the  unkempt  street  to  see  if  her  father 
had  yet  come  in  sight ;  then  she  stood  up  in  the  cart 
and  looked.  It  was  growing  late.  The  sun  was  slip- 
ping down  behind  the  mountains  and  a  cooler  breath 
crept  through  the  valley. 

"  Well,  Ben,  hit  air  no  use  er  stayin'  yer  any  longer, 
I  'spec'  at  pap  he  air  drunk.  Git  erp  ther',  Ben! " 

She  had  gathered  up  the  rope  guiding  line  and  the 
gad  that  lay  in  the  box,  and  as  she  finished  speaking 
she  tapped  the  ox  and  drove  away,  heading  for  the 
road  that  led  homeward.  The  thought  that  her  father 
was  drunk  seemed  not  to  affect  her  in  any  way.  She 
soon  resumed  her  singing,  and  her  aimless,  wistful  gazing 
at  the  splendid  Southern  sky. 

It  was  long  after  night-fall,  but  the  moon  was  shining 
brightly,  when  Milly  drove  up  to  the  little  front  gate  at 
home,  and  freeing  Ben  from  his  yoke  and  shafts,  turned 


MILL  Y  hVQ  UIRES.  1 3 1 

him  loose  to  browse  on  the  mountain-side.  Her  mother 
met  her  at  the  door. 

"  Wher'  air  yer  pap  ?  "  was  the  laconic  inquiry. 

"  Drunk,  I  'spec',"  was  the  answer. 

"  An'  er  playin'  of  keerds,"  suggested  Mrs.  White. 

"  Yes,  I  'spec'." 

"  Well,  ef  hit  air  seving  up  'at  he  air  a  playin'  ther' 
air  sense  to  hit,  fer  he  gin'rally  wa'ms  their  low  down 
gam'lin'  hides  fer  'em,  w'en  hit  air  seving  up  'at  he 
plays  ;  but  ef  he  goes  in  on  ter  any  er  them  tother 
games,  he'll  come  home  'ithout  ary  cent  inter  his 
pockets,  mind  what  I  tell  ye." 

"  I  wush  John  'd  come  home,  that's  what  I  wush," 
murmured  Milly,  opening  the  door  of  Reynolds'  room 
and  going  in  to  wander  listlessly  about  among  his 
things.  She  touched  his  books,  his  pencils,  his  brushes, 
his  pen,  and  lingered  about  the  easel  upon  which  the 
dog  sketch  still  rested  unfinished. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  White  came  in  good- 
humoredly  drunk,  boasting  of  another  victory  at  "  sev- 
ing up  with  them  air  gam'lers."  His  wife  had  gone  to 
bed,  but  Milly  met  him  with  her  usual  quiet  welcome 
and  the  formula  expressing  her  predominant  "  wush." 

"Ye  needn't  er  be  'spectin'  the  Colonel  home  for  a 
week,  Milly,"  he  said,  as  he  lighted  his  pipe  for  a  sober- 
ing smoke  before  retiring ;  "  fer  he's  gone  away  down 
on  the  Al'bam'  River  to  Gen'l  DeKay's  to  a  huntin' 
frolic  with  banker  Noble  an'  his  darter." 


13*  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

Nothing  save  the  very  unusual  amount  of  whisky  he 
had  been  taking  could  have  induced  White  to  say  that 
and  in  such  a  tone.  Milly  looked  at  him  in  a  dazed, 
stupid  way,  her  cherry  underlip  falling  as  if  from  the 
weight  of  the  information  she  had  received. 

"  Do  he  go  wuth  them  air  fine  folks  ?  "  she  presently 
inquired,  in  a  dry,  doleful  voice. 

"  Ye'd  think  so  ef  ye'd  see  'im,"  he  answered.  "  He 
air  high  dinky  davy  along  of  the  best  of  'em,  I  tell 
ye.  Him  an'  that  feller  Moreting  what  wer*  here  that 
rainy  day  do  scoot  aroun'  with  them  air  silks  an'  rib- 
bons an'  jew'lry  alarmin'  to  the  saints." 

Milly  put  her  hands  together  and  rested  them  on  her 
head  with  their  fingers  intertwined.  She  appeared  to 
be  considering  some  troublesome  proposition. 

"  Do  ye  s'pose  them  folks  '11  make  fun  of  we-uns  to 
'im  ?  " 

White  chuckled. 

"  I  don't  keer  airy  dam  ef  they  do,"  he  said,  con- 
temptuously snapping  his  thumb  and  finger.  "  Let  'em 
sail  in." 

"  Well  I  wush  'at  they  wouldn't.  'Tain't  none  er 
the'r  business  'bout  how  we-uns  looks,  no  how,"  she 
quickly  replied.  She  looked  over  her  faded  cotton 
dress  as  she  spoke,  with  a  hurried,  dissatisfied  glance. 
She  had  seen  some  wonderful  dresses  in  Birmingham. 

"  No,  hit  tain't  the'r  business,  thet's  a  fac',  Milly," 
he  responded,  ramming  his  pipe  with  his  finger  and 


MILL  y  INQ  UtRES.  133 

wagging  his  head.  "  'Tain't  store  clo's,  an'  jew'ls  an* 
sich  'at  meks  folks  honest  an'  'spectable,  hits  in  yer, 
Milly,  in  yer,"  tapping  his  breast.  "  We'r1  jest  as  good 
as  any  body,  hain't  we,  Milly  ?  " 

"  Spec'  so  ;  dunno,"  she  said,  looking  dully  at  him. 
"  I  wush  he  had  er  staid  yer  an'  kep'  away  f'om  down 
ther'." 

"  Hit  air  p'int  blank  no  use  er  wushin'  thet,  Milly," 
he  slowly  and  firmly  declared,  "  fur  he  air  dead  sot  onto 
'em  an'  he  air  a  goin*  wi'  'em.  In  fac',  he  air  them  sort 
er  folks  his  own  self,  he  air,  Milly." 

The  girl's  eyes  slowly  brimmed  with  big  tears,  and 
without  further  words  she  crept  off  to  bed.  White  sat 
and  smoked  in  a  gloomy  way  for  a  long  while,  his 
face  showing  more  than  usually  gaunt  and  wrinkled 
in  the  dim  light  of  the  flickering  pine  knots  on  the 
hearth.  He  shook  his  head  from  time  to  time,  as  if 
dissatisfied  with  such  results  as  his  thoughts  produced. 
Once  he  spoke  out  rather  fiercely. 

"  Hit  air  a  dern  shame !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  so 
fierce  and  bitter  that  it  awoke  his  wife.  And  yet  he 
was  too  simple-minded  to  dream  of  the  worst.  With 
the  queer  pride  of  the  mountaineer,  he  was  viewing  the 
predicament  simply  from  a  social  standpoint. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

DALLYING. 

quail-shoot,  after  the  enthusiastic  contest  of 
J.  the  first  day,  abated  to  a  sort  of  desultory 
skirmish,  each  sportsman  going  into  the  field  as  best 
suited  his  mood.  The  weather  bred  a  languor,  pecul- 
iarly Southern  and  dreamy,  which  was  aided  by  the 
quietude  and  isolation  of  the  place.  The  bustle  and 
activity  with  which  the  sport  had  begun  became  irreg- 
ularly intermittent.  Day  after  day  the  sky  was  serene 
and  cloudless,  tinted  with  that  cool,  bird-egg  blue,  ten- 
der, delicate,  transparent,  against  which  the  lines  of 
wood  came  out  with  a  peculiar  semi-tropical  effect. 
Nearly  all  the  time  there  was  a  breeze,  not  the  rollick- 
ing Northern  wind  that  whisks  things  about,  but  a 
fitful  breath  that  palpitated  lazily  in  the  tops  of  the 
dull  old  trees  and  stirred  the  vines  and  plants  and  dry, 
thin  grass  in  a  fashion  wholly  indefinite  and  aimless. 
It  was  a  luxury  to  idle  around  in  the  shadowy  nooks 
and  corners  of  DeKay  Place,  where  the  spirit  of  old 
times  hovered  like  a  vague,  fascinating  perfume.  Life 
lost  its  rough  angles  here,  its  outlines  softening  down 
to  harmonize  with  the  monotonous  equipoise  of  its 
surroundings.  The  river  had  the  charm  of  all  low- 


DALLYING.  135 

country  streams,  a  warm,  slow,  lagging  motion,  a  look 
of  lapsing  away  into  some  strange,  silent,  unexplored 
region  ;  its  murmur  was  a  lingering,  never  quite  ended 
good-by. 

To  Reynolds  those  were  days  of  deep  and  sweet 
excitement  into  which  now  and  then  darted  a  pang 
like  a  stab  in  the  heart.  He  was  with  Agnes  Ran- 
som a  great  deal.  Shy  and  strangely  limited  in  con- 
versation as  she  was,  he  yet  found  her  monosyllables 
and  simplest  phrases  quite  enough  to  hold  him  to  her 
side.  She  had  not  read  a  great  deal  of  art  and  litera- 
ture, she  had  but  fragmentary  glimpses  of  knowledge, 
her  round  of  life  had  been  confined  to  a  small  compass : 
still  she  seemed  to  have  gathered  a  great  deal,  and  a 
depth  rather  than  a  width  of  experience  was  in  some 
subtle  way  suggested  by  her  words  and  looks. 

Moreton  was  unreservedly  happy.  Born  sportsman 
as  he  was,  it  must  have  been  a  genuine  old-time  love 
that  made  him  prefer  sitting  on  the  veranda  or  on  one 
of  the  rustic  benches  with  Miss  Noble  to  following  the 
pointers  and  setters  afield  under  the  cloudless  sky  and 
over-warm  beams  of  this  waning,  low-country  winter. 
He  also  allowed  himself  to  become  interested  to  a 
certain  extent  in  the  plans  of  Miss  Crabb.  From  his 
English  point  of  view,  this  eager,  outspoken,  persistent 
young  woman,  with  her  mingled  air  of  freshness,  alert- 
ness and  strangely  hindered  ambition,  was  a  very  novel 
and  interesting  study.  He  recognized  and  respected 


136  A  T  L  0  VE '  S  EX  TREMES. 

the  worthiness  and  purity  of  her  aims,  whilst  he  could 
not  keep  from  regarding  her  doings  with  a  curiosity 
little  short  of  that  with  which  he  would  have  observed 
the  gambols  of  a  rare  species  of  monkey.  He 
had  not  been  long  enough  in  America  to  become 
indifferent  to  the  oddities  and  sharp  salients  of  Ameri- 
can character  and  our  social  contrasts  and  discords, 
nor  had  his  tastes  resigned  themselves  to  such  breezy, 
democratic  familiarity  as  Miss  Crabb  insisted  upon  ; 
but  he  was  a  good  hater  of  shams,  and  her  genuine- 
ness appealed  to  him  in  its  spirit  if  not  in  its  manner. 
He  walked  with  her  an  hour  back  and  forth  on  one  of 
the  long  verandas,  scarcely  aware  how  much  he  was 
promising  when  he  agreed  to  make  some  sketches  for 
her.  He  had  been,  as  the  reader  knows,  an  art-student 
once,  but  had  lacked  either  talent  or  industry  or  both, 
getting  on  no  further  than  to  become  a  clever  sketcher. 
Miss  Crabb  told  him  all  she  knew  touching  every  sub- 
ject she  could  think  of,  even  going  so  far  as  to  give 
the  details  of  the  distressing  tragic  circumstances 
under  which  Mrs.  Ransom  had  been  made  a  widow. 
It  was  a  sad  story  of  a  mere  girl  marrying  a  hand- 
some, dashing,  rather  reckless  youth,  who  led  her  a 
romantic  life  for  a  time  and  finally  deserted  her,  going 
away  to  Texas  where  he  had  been  killed  in  a  street 
fight  with  a  desperado  at  San  Antonio.  Such  stories 
were  rather  common  in  the  South  at  one  time.  The 
first  decade  after  the  close  of  the  war  was,  in  the  Gulf 


DALLYING.  137 

States,  one  of  humiliation,  nervousness,  doubt — a 
decade  that  soured  and  vitiated  many  young  lives, 
making  almost  outlaws  of  youths  who,  under  a  milder 
influence  would  have  been  good  citizens,  or  at  least, 
harmless  ones.  Sudden  poverty,  the  stagnation  of 
agriculture  and  trade,  the  ebbing  of  all  commercial 
tides,  the  swift  leveling  of  social  eminences,  and  the 
desperation  that  followed  dire  defeat,  were  supple- 
mented and  aggravated  by  political  annoyances  of  the 
most  grievous  nature.  But  the  one  demoralizing 
element  most  active  and  potent  was  the  prejudice, 
deep-seated  and  woven  into  the  very  tissues  of  the 
Southern  youth,  against  gaining  a  livelihood  by  manual 
labor  in  plebeian  employments.  Of  course  it  is  no 
wonder  that  this  prejudice  existed,  indeed  it  would 
have  been  amazing  if  it  had  not  existed ;  but  the  result 
was  the  destruction  of  many  young  men  who  really  had 
in  them  the  qualities  that  go,  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, to  make  up  valuable  citizens. 

Herbert  Ransom  came  of  an  honorable  and  once 
wealthy  family  at  Pensacola,  Florida.  He  was  one  of 
what  has  been  rather  familiarly  termed  the  "  first  crop 
of  young  men  since  the  war,"  which  means  that  during 
the  war  he  was  too  young  to  be  a  soldier,  and  became 
a  man  soon  after  its  close.  He  was  bright,  handsome, 
vain,  unprincipled,  and  yet  he  passed  current  in  society 
and  married  Agnes  DeKay,  a  beautiful  girl  scarcely  six- 
teen, whose  father,  a  brother  of  General  DeKay,  was 


138  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

very  poor,  very  proud  and  very  old.  For  a  time  the 
young  people  lived  a  sweet,  idyllic  sort  of  life  on  an 
old  plantation  near  Mariana,  Florida;  but  Ransom's 
restless,  rollicking  nature  would  not  be  confined  to  mere 
domestic  quietude.  He  tried  speculation  in  cotton 
with  just  enough  success  to  lead  him  swiftly  to  finan- 
cial ruin.  The  plantation  was  sold  at  a  great  sacrifice 
and  Agnes  had  to  return  to  her  father,  while  Ransom 
went  to  western  Texas  with  the  avowed  purpose  of 
looking  after  some  wild  lands  belonging  to  his  father's 
estate,  but  really  with  no  hope  of  ever  again  seeing 
his  wife.  He  had  been  gone  nearly  a  year  when  the 
news  of  his  tragic  death  in  a  street  fight  in  San 
Antonio  reached  his  relations  in  Pensacola.  Soon 
after  this  Agnes'  parents  died  and  she  was  left  with  an 
income  barely  sufficient  to  support  her.  She  had  no 
children,  and,  with  a  widowed  aunt,  she  lived  in  the  old 
family  homestead  at  Pensacola,  until  General  DeKay 
came  and  persuaded  her  to  become  his  adopted  daugh- 
ter. This  meager  outline  of  what  seemed  to  Moreton 
a  most  pathetic  story,  fell  glibly  from  the  lips  of  Miss 
Crabb,  alorjg  with  sundry  shrewd  strictures  upon  social 
laws  that  render  women  so  powerless  to  struggle  with 
adversity  and  neglect. 

"When  a  woman  gets  married,"  she  observed,  "she 
becomes  helpless.  She  plunges  into  the  gulf  of  mat- 
rimony with  a  mill-stone  at  her  neck,  so  that  she  may 
be  sure  to  disappear  utterly.  If  she  ever  again  comes 


DALLYING.  139 

to  the  surface  it  is  but  to  air  troubles  for  which  there  is 
no  cure." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  said  Moreton,  "  if  I  were  a 
woman  I  should  try  and  not  marry." 

Miss  Crabb  laughed. 

"  Oh,  I  presume  there  will  always  be  a  majority  of 
fools  among  us,"  she  replied.  "Silly  girls  and  restless 
spinsters,  ready  to  be  martyred  for  the  mere  romance 
of  the  thing ;  but  you  know,  as  well  as  I,  that  this  is 
an  awfully  one-sided  world." 

"  Yes,  but  you  women  make  it  so,  don't  you  know, 
by  decoying  us  over  to  your  side,  thus  destroying  the 
equilibrium.  If  we  were  the  antipodes  of  each  other, 
now,  this  would  be  a  gloriously  balanced  world  !  All 
the  sorrow-making  material  on  one  side  and  all  the 
joy-bringers  on  the  other !  " 

"  You  are  like  the  rest — you  won't  condescend  to 
sensibly  argue  a  question  with  a  woman.  You  must 
go  off  into  badinage,  as  if  a  woman  could  not  under- 
stand and  enjoy  cogent  reasoning.  I  don't  like  insin- 
cerity, Mr.  Moreton." 

"  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  did 
not  mean  to  be  insincere — indeed,  Miss  Crabb,  I  was 
under  the  impression  that  I  was  making  myself  quite 
entertaining,  don't  you  know,  I " 

She  laughed  again,  a  clear,  honest,  prairie  laugh, 
throwing  back  her  head  and  holding  up  one  hand  as  if 
to  ward  off  something. 


1 40  AT  LOVE'S  EX  TREMES. 

"  Oh,  it's  the  same  thing  over  and  over.  Wherever 
I  go  men  look  upon  me  as  a  sort  of  monstrosity  at 
large  by  some  accident,  because  I  travel  alone,  just  as 
a  man  may,  and  because  I  attend  to  my  business,  just 
as  a  man  does.  It's  really  funny  sometimes;  I  overhear 
what  they  say.  They  comment  on  me.  '  A  cheeky 
old  girl,'  '  a  newspaper  crank,'  '  a  stiff-minded  female,' 
and  '  a  meddling  nuisance,'  are  the  delicate  and  friendly 
epithets  applied  to  me  by  men.  One  fellow  at  the 
Cincinnati  convention  called  me  'a  bag  of  gimlets  '  to 
my  face." 

"  But  then  your  absolute  knowledge  that  the  man 
was  mistaken  must  have  ruined  the  point  of  his 
remark,"  said  Moreton.  "Conscious  innocence  is  an 
impenetrable  shield." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  flash  of  momentary 
anger  in  her  eyes,  then  laughing  again  she  said : 

"Oh,  go  on,  I'm  used  to  it,  and,  besides,  I  can't 
afford  to  quarrel  with  you  until  I  have  your  sketches 
in  hand ;  you  must  make  the  sketches,  Mr.  Moreton : 
they  will  be  invaluable  to  me.  '  I  want  to  get  on  in 
literature,  and  the  only  way  in  which  I  can  do  that  is 
to  get  into  the  great  illustrated  magazines :  they  are 
the  highways  to  fame."  There  was  a  hungry,  almost 
greedy  ring  to  her  voice,  as  if  her  longing  for  literary 
recognition  were  rooted  in  her  heart.  Moreton  fan- 
cied that  her  lips  quivered  as  she  spoke.  Her  manner 
touched  his  sympathy. 


DALLYING.  141 

"You'll  get  on  fast  enough,  Miss  Crabb,"  he  quickly 
said  ;  "your  energy  and  persistence  and  your  capacity 
for  work  will  take  you  through,  never  fear."  It  was 
the  best  he  could  think  of,  though  he  felt  its  utter 
inadequacy  to  her  fancied  needs.  As  he  looked  down 
upon  her  his  rather  heavy,  thoroughly  English  face 
wore  a  very  kindly  expression. 

"  But  you  don't  know,  Mr.  Moreton,  you  can't  imagine 
what  a  hard  time  I  have  ;  how  many  ugly  obstacles  men 
put  in  my  way,  simply  because  I  am  a  woman.  I  don't 
see  why  they  do,  but  they  do.  It's  awful  sometimes." 

"  They  are  brutes,  they  ought  to  be  punched,  don't 
you  know,"  he  blurted  ;  "  they  deserve  no  recognition 
by  gentlemen." 

"  Yes,  but  they  do  get  recognition,"  she  replied,  half- 
mournfully.  "  They  drink  and  smoke  and  swear  them- 
selves into  prominence  in  every  walk  of  life — into 
fame,  fortune,  and " 

"  Oh,  not  so  bad  as  that,  I  hope,"  he  interposed. 
"  Don't  be  discouraged.  George  Eliot  and  Georges 
Sand  and ' 

"  They  are  not  American  women,"  she  interrupted 
in  turn,  "  and  they  have  never  tried  editing  a  country 
newspaper  or  writing  for  a  New  York  magazine.  They 
were  rich,  or  had  influential  friends,  or  made  people 
believe  they  were  men." 

"  Well,  suppose  you  try  adopting  a  masculine  pseu- 
donym, you  might " 


142  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMK S. 

"  Never ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  little  stamp  of  the 
foot.  "  Never !  I  shall  win  my  way  as  a  woman  or  not 
at  all." 

Moreton  was  beginning  to  comprehend,  in  a  measure, 
the  really  pathetic  hopelessness  of  Miss  Crabb's  intel- 
lectual predicament.  To  his  mind  she  appeared  a 
heroine  with  a  self-imposed  task  quite  as  great  as  that 
of  Joan  of  Arc.  Like  Joan,  she  must  at  last  be  man's 
victim.  He  could  see  the  stake  set  and  the  fagots 
heaped  for  her  already.  It  now  seemed  a  mighty 
blessing  of  providence  that  she  was  not  beautiful,  that 
she  was  positively  ugly  and  not  at  all  likely  to  attract 
men.  He  had  the  English  admiration  for  pluck  and 
he  felt  a  great  desire  to  help  her ;  but  there  was  no 
way.  Evidently  she  did  not  possess  any  genius  and 
was  only  gifted  with  a  shrewd,  quick  mind  and  a 
hungry  imagination.  She  was  mistaking  notoriety  for 
just  fame  and  was  deluding  herself  with  the  belief 
that  her  burning  desire  for  success  was  proof  positive 
of  her  power  to  succeed.  Nevertheless  her  attitude 
was  heroic  and  he  wished  her  a  better  fate  than  was 
sure  to  befall  her. 

"  But  you  must  not  commit  the  folly  of  setting  your- 
self against  men,"  he  presently  said,  his  voice  taking 
on  a  persuasive  tone ;  "  you  must  recognize  their  power 
and  the  necessity  of  winning  their  confidence  and 
help." 

"  I   have  tried  that  turn,"  she  replied  with  a  short 


DALLYING.  143 

laugh  that  had  a  ring  of  derision  in  it,  "  and  it's  no 
use.  A  woman  must  have  beauty  before  she  can 
influence  men.  All  the  wisdom  of  Minerva  could  not 
have  compassed  what  Cleopatra's ' 

"  Hold,"  cried  Moreton,  with  an  affectation  of  light- 
ness which  he  did  not  feel,  "you  are  slandering  my 
sex,  or,  at  least,  I  am  an  exception.  Not  that  I  don't 
admit  the  power  of  beauty,  but  you  put  the  rule  too 
savagely,  don't  you  know.  Why,  you  really  frighten 
me  with  your  suggestion  of  masculine  depravity ! " 

She  laughed  and  changed  the  subject.  They  con- 
tinued walking  to  and  fro  and  chatting  in  a  broken 
way  with  the  sough  of  the  wind  and  the  swash  of  the 
river  filling  up  the  spaces. 

"  Some  day,"  she  said,  recurring  to  the  subject 
always  uppermost  in  her  mind,  and  turning  to  leave 
him,  "  some  day  my  ship  will  come  in." 

Moreton  breathed  freer  when  she  was  gone.  Her 
state  of  ferment,  of  restless  effort,  tired  him. 

Two  or  three  hours  later  when  he  and  Reynolds  sat 
by  a  window  of  the  latter's  room,  smoking  cigars,  he 
said : 

"  Miss  Crabb  told  me  something  a  while  ago  that 
surprised  and  touched  me." 

"  Well,  what  was  it  ? "  inquired  Reynolds,  gazing 
dreamily  out  into  the  brilliant,  moonlit  night.  He 
had  just  been  for  an  hour  talking  with  Mrs.  Ransom 
and  was  now  mentally  going  over  again  every  word  of 


144  AT  LOVE'S  EX  THEMES. 

the  charming  conversation.  He  was  in  love,  he  knew 
it,  and  was  reveling  in  the  luxury  of  it.  Her  sweet 
face  and  low,  rich  voice,  her  quiet  grace  of  manner,  her 
slender,  supple  form  and  that  indescribable,  mysterious 
half-sadness  in  her  eyes  and  smile,  had  fired  his  imagi- 
nation and  filled  his  blood  with  a  gentle  tumult. 
Never  before  had  the  moon  and  stars  and  the  grand 
expanse  of  heaven  looked  so  lovely  to  him  ;  never  had 
the  world  seemed  so  good ;  never  had  life  seemed  so 
precious.  Being  in  love  is  a  trite  thing,  and  may  be 
going  out  of  fashion,  but  it  is  worth  experiencing 
once,  at  least,  in  every  lifetime,  as  a  test  of  the  imagi- 
nation, if  for  nothing  else. 

"  She  gave  me  an  account  of  Mrs.  Ransom's 
troubles,''  said  Moreton.  "It  seems  that  hers  has 
been  a  rather  rough  cruise." 

Reynolds  clamped  his  cigar  between  his  teeth  and 
looked  up. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  said,  in  a  half-impatient  voice. 
"  Her  husband  deserted  her." 

"And  was  murdered  out  on  the  Texas  border," 
added  Moreton. 

"  Murdered,"  said  Reynolds,  as  if  weighing  the 
word.  "  There  has  been  a  great  deal  of  that  sort  of 
thing  in  Texas." 

"  In  this  instance,"  Moreton  went  on,  "  I  fancy  that 
the  murder  was  all  for  the  best.  Poor  little  woman, 
how  she  must  have  suffered  under  such  treatment  as 


DALL  YING.  145 

that  young  villain  gave  her.  Pity  that  all  such  fellows 
don't  go  to  Texas  and  get  a  hole  bored  through 
them  ! " 

Reynolds  smoked  quite  rapidly  for  a  few  seconds, 
with  his  eyelids  nearly  shut  together,  a  barely  percept- 
ible grayish  pallor  spreading  over  his  cheeks.  Pres- 
ently, in  an  even  and  steady,  but  very  strange  voice, 
he  said : 

"  She  is  a  lovely  little  woman,  Moreton,  a  sweet, 
warm-hearted,  true  and  noble  little  woman.  I  love 
her,  Moreton.  I'm  going  to  marry  her,  if  I  can." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Moreton.  "I'm  glad  to  hear 
that.  She  will  just  suit  you,  make  you  a  charming 
wife.  I  hope  you'll  find  your  way  clear,  old  fellow." 

For  a  time  they  both  were  silent,  each  thinking  of 
his  own  love,  and  gazing  out  into  the  almost  blue-black 
depths  of  the  star-sprinkled  sky.  A  gentle  swashing 
sound  came  from  the  river  along  with  the  fragrance  of 
pine-needles  and  the  odor  of  turpentine.  Somewhere, 
seemingly  at  a  vast  distance,  an  owl  now  and  then 
laughed,  as  if  from  a  sepulcher. 

"  My  way  seems  clear  enough,"  Reynolds  at  last 
said,  "  if  I  can  understand  her ;  but  she  is  an  elusive 
little  woman,  shy  and  incomprehensible  at  times." 

Moreton  laughed. 

"They  all  are  that  way — it's  a  part  of  woman's 
nature  to  be  inexplicable,  don't  you  know,  deuced 
inexplicable.  Now  there's  that  Miss  Crabb :  I  never 


146  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

saw  such  an  enigma.  She's  a  man  and  a  woman  and  a 
little  school-girl,  all  in  one." 

Reynolds  got  up  from  his  chair  and  began  walking 
to  and  fro,  his  head  thrown  back,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  him.  He  frowned  and  pressed  his  lips  over  his 
cigar  so  that  deep  furrows  came  on  each  side  of  his 
mouth. 

"  Being  in  love  appears  to  render  you  gloomy," 
Moreton  lightly  exclaimed,  as  he  glanced  into  his 
friend's  face.  "  Love  is  like  wine,  it  makes  some  men 
surly  whilst  it  makes  others  merry.  Now  I " 

Reynolds  waved  his  hand  impatiently  and  said 
almost  abruptly : 

"If  she  really  loved  her  husband,  in  the  first  place, 
it  must  have  been  a  dreadful  ordeal  she  went 
through." 

"  Oh,  she  must  have  been  very  young,  scarcely  more 
than  a  child,"  said  Moreton,  as  if  hurrying  to  relieve 
Reynolds,  if  he  could ;  "  and  I  should  think  she  has 
outgrown  it  in  a  great  degree,  by  this  time.  She 
seems  quite  cheerful  and  in  superb  health." 

Reynolds  turned  as  he  came  near  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  facing  Moreton,  appeared  on  the  point  of 
saying  some  momentous  thing.  A  gloomy  cloud  of 
excitement  had  settled  on  his  countenance.  His  lips 
faltered  at  the  point  of  speech,  and  with  a  strange 
smile  he  resumed  his  pacing  to  and  fro.  Moreton's 
eyes  followed  him  with  a  look  of  puzzled  interest. 


DALLYING.  147 

Presently  he  laughed  outright  and  exclaimed  chaff- 
ingly : 

"  You  make  me  think  of  that  little  girl  of  White's 
when  you  look  like  that,  Reynolds.  Your  eyes  are  for 
all  the  world  like  hers,  with  those  mysterious  sad 
shadows  in  them.  What  the  deuce  is  the  matter  ?  " 

Reynolds'  countenance  changed  abruptly;  he  essayed 
to  laugh,  but  there  was  no  sincerity  in  the  effort.  He 
shook  his  head  and  answered  : 

"  My  head  is  all  in  a  whirl  and  I  believe  I  am  excited ; 
but  you  must  remember  that  I  am  hard  hit  and  awfully 
in  earnest."  His  attempt  at  making  light  of  his  show 
of  feeling  was  not  more  successful  than  his  laughter  had 
been.  He  saw  that  Moreton  felt  its  hollowness,  and  he 
made  haste  to  add  :  "  It  has  always  been  thus  with  me. 
I  am  a  creature  of  extremes,  a  straw  in  the  currents  of 
passion." 

From  Moreton's  rather  phlegmatic  point  of  view,  this 
excitement  was  something  inexplicable.  He  saw  no 
reasonable  cause  for  it  in  the  situation,  and  his  mind  at 
once  reverted  to  certain  indications  of  a  secret  trouble 
observable  in  Reynolds  ever  since  their  first  meeting 
in  Birmingham.  Naturally  enough  the  rather  strange 
home  chosen  by  Reynolds  amid  the  sterile  mountains 
and  among  the  rude,  uninteresting  mountaineers,  came 
up  to  emphasize  Moreton's  suspicion  that  all  was  not 
well  with  his  friend. 

"What   especial   current  of  passion  is  tossing  you 


148  AT  LOVE '51  EXTREMES. 

just  now,  to  render  you  so  restless  and  moody?" 
Moreton  demanded.  "  One  would  think  you  were 
meditating  something  as  dark  as  suicide  or  assassina- 
tion." 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right ;  I  don't  mean  to  do  any  thing 
diabolical,  I'm  too  happy  for  that ;  give  me  another 
cigar,  mine  are  locked  up  in  my  bag."  He  pulled  him- 
self together  as  he  spoke,  and  laughed  in  a  way  so 
careless  and  natural  that  Moreton  felt  a  sense  of  disap- 
pointment at  having  inwardly  to  acknowledge  himself 
baffled,  if  not  mistaken. 

They  smoked  and  talked  until  late,  enjoying  the 
lulling  coolness  of  the  night  air  coming  in  at  the  open 
windows.  Reynolds  was  exceedingly  cheerful,  and 
when  they  separated  for  the  night  he  said : 

"  If  you  have  as  sweet  dreams  as  I  expect  to  indulge 
in  to-night,  tell  me  in  the  morning,  will  you  ?  Good 
night." 

But  Moreton,  who  slept  lightly,  awoke  now  and 
then,  and  heard  him  walking  to  and  fro  all  the  rest  of 
the  night. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

A   BIT   OF   LOVE   MAKING. 

party  at  General  DeKay's  broke  up  gradually. 
J[  some  of  the  sportsmen  going  away  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  day  following  the  quail  shoot,  the  rest  taking 
their  departure  in  groups  or  singly,  as  business  necessi- 
tated or  a  sense  of  propriety  dictated.  At  last  the 
Nobles,  the  Beresfords,  Miss  Crabb,  Reynolds  and 
Moreton  were  the  favored  remnant,  lingering  at  the 
old  plantation  to  enjoy,  as  long  as  possible,  the  sweets 
of  its  almost  arcadian  life. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  change  wrought  by  the 
war,  the  DeKays  had  been  able  to  hold  on  to  a  pictur- 
esque residuum  of  their  former  wealth  and  to  keep  up 
a  fair  show  of  that  hospitality  which  had  once  been 
almost  unlimited.  The  guests  of  the  mansion  felt  the 
perfect  freedom  given  them,  and  so  the  days  went  by 
without  a  circumstance  to  hinder  their  enjoyment  of 
every  moment. 

Uncle  Mono  was  a  source  of  great  amusement  to 
every  body  ;  his  banjo,  his  songs,  his  stories,  his  pecul- 
iar philosophy  and  that  individuality  of  thought  and 
expression,  so  often  exhibited  by  old  negroes,  making 
him  especially  interesting  to  Moreton  and  Miss  Crabb. 


150  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

His  life  had  been  so  saturated  with  slavery's  influ- 
ences that  freedom,  coming  to  him  after  he  had  passed 
the  meridian  of  life,  had  not  been  able  to  change  him 
much. 

Along  with  his  other  gifts,  Uncle  Mono  was  a  for- 
tune-teller whose  fame  held  the  admiration  and  the 
awe  of  all  the  negroes  at  highest  strain.  He  could  tell 
when  it  was  going  to  rain  and  when  the  wind  was 
going  to  change  as  well  as  he  could  predict  the  kind 
of  sweetheart  the  future  would  bring  to  the  inquiring 
youth  or  maiden.  In  fact  he  was  the  seventh  son  of  a 
seventh  son,  and  not  a  drop  of  white-man's  blood  ran 
in  his  veins. 

"  I's  pyo'  blood  dahky  f'om  away  back,"  he  was 
fond  of  saying.  "  None  yo'  yaller  niggah  'bout  me. 
Nuffin'  I  'spises  mo'  'n  one  o'  dese  yer  no'  'count  clay- 
faced  merlatters.  Steal !  Dey  des  steal  de  sole  of  'm 
yo'  shoes !  No  sah,  I's  pyo'  blood  dahky." 

Sometimes,  when  the  evening  air  chanced  to  be 
warm  enough,  the  guests  and  the  household  would 
assemble  on  one  of  the  wide  verandas  and  send  for 
Uncle  Mono  to  play  for  them  while  the  gentlemen 
smoked  their  pipes  and  cigars  and  the  ladies  prome- 
naded back  and  forth  to  the  brisk  tinkling  of  the 
banjo.  They  all  enjoyed  the  touch  of  old-time  custom 
when  a  number  of  the  plantation  negroes,  young  and 
old,  crept  up  to  within  a  respectful  distance,  looking 
on  and  listening. 


A  BIT  OF  LOVE  MAKING.  1 5 1 

The  nights  were  superb,  the  splendor  of  stars  or 
moon  and  sky  adding  an  almost  weird  sheen  to  the 
gray  fields  and  silvery  river.  The  pronounced  atmos- 
phere of  isolation  which  broods  over  all  those  large 
low-country  plantations  gave  to  the  guests  at  DeKay 
Place  a  comforting  sense  of  liberty,  as  if  the  restraints 
of  conventional  life  had  been  dissolved  and  dissipated, 
or  had  never  come  here. 

Some  swings  had  been  made  of  huge  muscadine 
vines  brought  from  the  woods  and  suspended  from 
the  trees  on  the  lawn.  The  young  women,  especially 
Miss  Noble  and  Miss  Crabb,  found  swinging  most 
exhilarating  sport.  Moreton  watched  Cordelia  as  she 
oscillated,  like  a  gay  pendulum,  in  the  soft  night-light 
under  the  dusky  boughs,  until  his  heart  timed  its  beat- 
ing with  her  movements.  He  enjoyed  every  phase  of 
this  delightful  subtropical  episode  in  his  life.  It  did 
him  good  to  see  Reynolds  returning  to  something  like 
his  old-time  youthful  enthusiasm  and  cheerfulness. 

Among  them  all  it  was  silently  noted  how  Mrs. 
Ransom  and  Reynolds  were  drawn  towards  each  other. 

"  Dunno  'bout  dat  big,  dahk  young  ge'man  flyin' 
roun'  de  young  missus  no  how,"  muttered  Uncle  Mono 
to  his  colored  companions ;  "  seem  lak  mebbe  she 
better  look  sha'p  'bout  'im.  He  sort  o'  'sterious 
lookin'  young  man  anyhow." 

Miss  Crabb  for  some  reason  failed  to  win  favor  with 
the  negroes.  She  was  very  much  interested  in  them 


152  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

and  tried  hard  to  study  them ;  but  her  inquiring  man- 
ner and  insistent  tones  of  voice  did  not  touch  their 
warm  African  hearts.  On  the  other  hand,  Miss  Noble 
was  a  prime  favorite  with  them  all. 

"  Bress  dat  sweet  chile,"  said  Uncle  Mono,  "  she 
jes'  lak  de  ripe  peach  on  de  eend  ob  a  limb,  she  sort  o' 
glimmer  an'  look  too  good  fo'  to  pull  off  an*  too  ripe 
fo'  to  let  erlone." 

"  Dat  same  lak  what  de  young  boss  f'om  way  off 
fink,  I  'spec,"  ventured  a  colored  listener.  "  He  look 
at  'er  'mazin'  sof  an'  hongry  lak." 

"Wha*  yo'  know  'bout  it?"  stormed  Uncle  Mono. 
"  Wha'  business  yo'  got  fo'  to  be  .a  watchin'  dem  whi' 
folks  ?  Fust  ting  yo'  know  yo'  git  yo'  backbone  wa'med 
up  wid  a  stick  !  Better  not  be  peekin'  'roun',  /  tell  yo'." 

"  Ef  yo'  lak  what  yo'  call  peekin',"  replied  the  other, 
with  a  comical  grin,  "jes'  cas'  yo'  eye  on  dat  young 
leddy  dat's  got  de  leetle  book  an'  pencil ;  she  kin' 
peek  fo'  de  Lor'  sake  !  " 

Miss  Crabb  was  pretty  well  aware  of  the  delicacy  of 
her  situation,  or,  to  put  it  fairly,  the  indelicacy  of  it ; 
but  she  had  gone  too  far  to  retreat.  She  must  brave 
it  through  to  the  end. 

It  chanced  that  Moreton  discovered  Miss  Noble's 
pique  at  Reynolds  because  of  his  neglect  to  fulfill  his 
promise  to  teach  her  the  art  of  handling  a  gun.  This 
gave  him  a  most  excellent  excuse  for  offering  himself 
as  her  instructor.  He  borrowed  Reynolds'  little  gun 


A  BIT  OF  LOVE  MAKING.  153 

and  made  the  most  of  his  opportunities.  His  patience 
was  unbounded  and  Miss  Noble's  zeal  unflagging,  so 
that  between  them  they  squandered  a  great  deal  of 
time  down  on  a  little  open  plat  between  the  house 
and  the  river,  banging  away  at  an  improvised  target. 
As  for  Reynolds,  his  promise  to  Miss  Noble  was 
entirely  forgotten  by  him.  His  love  for  Agnes  Ransom 
had  crowded  every  lighter  thing  from  his  consciousness. 
General  DeKay  and  Mr.  Noble  remained  faithful  to 
the  object  of  the  occasion,  pursuing  the  birds  with 
dogs  and  guns  each  day  with  unremitting  ardor. 
Young  Beresford  and  his  sister,  after  a  most  commend- 
able effort  to  stem,  with  a  show  of  good  natured  indif- 
ference, the  tide  setting  against  the  passion  of  one  and 
the  pride  of  the  other,  went  away,  taking  with  them, 
much  against  their  will,  the  unflagging  Miss  Crabb, 
whose  pencil  had  filled  the  little  red  book  with  pot- 
hook notes  of  what  she  had  seen  and  heard. 

Miss  Crabb  had  failed,  however,  to  get  any  sketches 
from  Moreton.  He  had,  at  last,  begged  her  to  release 
him  from  the  obligation  of  his  hasty  promise. 

"  I  did  not  think,"  he  said  to  her;  "  I  did  not  once 
think  of  the — the — the  propriety  of  the  thing,  don't 
you  know,  when  we  were  talking  about  it ;  but  it  would 
offend  every  one  here.  These  people  are  peculiarly 
exclusive — very  proud  people,  Miss  Crabb,  and  they 
would  take  it  as  a  gross  breach  of  hospitality.  I  am 
very  sorry,  and  I  hope  you  will  not — not " 


154  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

"  Oh,  no,  certainly,  I  see,"  she  exclaimed,  in  confused 
haste.  "  It's  all  right,  Mr.  Beresford — Moreton  I  mean, 
it's  all  right,  I  assure  you  ;  but  do  you  think  they'll 
care  for  my  writing  them  up  ?  I  don't  see  how  I  can 
afford  to  waste  all  this  material.  It'll  work  up  so 
charmingly." 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  advise  as  to  that,"  Moreton 
evasively  answered.  "  You  needn't  send  them  any 
copy  of  your  paper.  It  takes  any  thing  new  a  century 
to  get  here,  if  it  isn't  especially  sent.  Use  your  own 
good  editorial  judgment,  Miss  Crabb." 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  she  responded,  thoughtfully  adjust- 
ing her  gloves,  "  it  is  a  matter  of  business,  a  matter  of 
bread  and  butter  with  me.  I  must  make  every  edge 
cut."  She  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Presently  she 
looked  up  quickly  and  keenly,  adding  in  a  thin  voice : 
"  If  one  writes  for  the  public  one  must  write  what  is  of 
interest.  One  can't  afford  to  stand  on  small  proprieties. 
I  can't,  at  least :  I'm  poor." 

Moreton  had  ready  no  response.  He  felt  an  impulse 
toward  putting  his  hand  into  his  pocket  to  give  her 
some  money  ;  but  of  course  he  did  not  do  it.  Never 
before  had  a  look  conveyed  to  him  so  sudden  a  dis- 
covery of  the  hard  lines  of  the  life  of  a  woman  who  is 
thrown  upon  her  own  resources  for  earning  a  livelihood. 
It  suggested  to  him  a  phase  of  human  struggle  hitherto 
quite  shut  out  of  his  imagination,  however  familiar  to 
Americans. 


A  BIT  OF  LOVE  MAKING.  155 

"  Well,  good-by,"  she  presently  said,  with  an  almost 
cheerful  smile.  "  I  wish  I  could  stay  here  always  :  this 
is  pretty  near  my  ideal  of  what  a  home  should  be." 
She  cast  a  slow  glance  around  her,  letting  her  eyes 
linger  on  the  picturesque  old  mansion  and  its  embow- 
ering trees.  Moreton  fancied  that  her  face  betrayed  a 
feeling  of  \veariness  and  failure,  as  if  her  enthusiasm 
had  suddenly  vanished. 

"  Good-by,  Miss  Crabb,  I  wish  you  great  success,"  he 
responded,  cordially  taking  her  hand.  It  was  the  best 
he  could  do. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  quickly  replied.  "  I  am  determined 
to  deserve  success,  at  least ;  but  it  is  a  long  way  off,  I 
sometimes  fear."  She  turned  to  go  to  the  waiting  car- 
riage, but  faced  him  again  and  added  :  "  This  has  been  a 
most  charming  experience  to  me.  What  a  sweet,  rest- 
ful life  it  must  be  living  here.  I  almost  envy — I  almost 

covet  Mrs.  Ransom's  lot.  I  have  had  such  a  hard ," 

but  she  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  "  Good-by,"  she 
repeated,  and  went  away. 

Moreton  felt  a  pang  of  sympathy  for  this  poor  girl, 
though  he  had  no  very  definite  idea  of  what  her  strug- 
gles, her  hopes  and  her  failures  might  be.  It  was 
enough  for  him  to  know  that  she  was  good  and 
honest  and  earnest,  and  that  she  felt  the  hardship  of 
some  galling  limitations. 

"  Will  she  ever  come  to  any  thing  ?  Is  there  really 
any  chance  for  a  person  like  her  in  this  country?"  he 


156  AT  LO VE'S  EXTREMES. 

inquired  of  Miss  Noble  a  little  later,  as  he  sat  by  her 
side  on  a  rustic  seat  under  some  trees  by  the  river. 

"  She  may  make  a  hit,  as  it  is  termed,"  was  the 
answer.  "  Some  of  them  do,  and  then,  if  she  will  make 
the  most  of  it,  she  may  get  to  where  life  is  easier  ;  but 
at  best  she  can  not  hope  for  much." 

"  It  seems  queer  and  pitiful  to  me,"  he  said,  after  a 
moment  of  thoughtfulness,  "  that  so  good  and  kind  a 
girl  as  she  evidently  is  should  have  to  do  such  things. 
Her  situation  has  deeply  touched  me." 

"That  is  because  you  haven't  been  used  to  it. 
Young  ladies  probably  do  not  report  for  the  press  in 
England,"  replied  Cordelia.  "  It  is  a  very  common 
thing  for  them  to  do  it  here." 

Moreton  smiled,  as  one  who  gives  up  a  sentiment 
rather  reluctantly  is  apt  to  do,  and  said : 

"  Still  I  would  rather  not  see  it ;  she  appeared  out  of 
place,  somehow." 

"  She  was  quite  out  of  place  here ;  but  she  has 
become  so  used  to  overcoming  such  obstacles  that  she 
easily  evaded  any  sense  of  the  impropriety  of  invading 
the  privacy  of  General  DeKay's  — 

"  No,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  hastily  spoke  up  Moreton. 
"  You  do  her  wrong.  She  did  feel  very  keenly  that  she 
was  de  trop,  that  she  wasn't  just  free  and  welcome,  don't 
you  know.  I  saw  it — she  almost  acknowledged  it  to  me, 
in  fact,  and  I  felt  downright  sorry  for  her." 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  exclaimed  Cordelia,  her  voice  soften- 


A  BIT  OF  LOVE  MAKING.  157 

ing  with  the  sudden  change  in  her  quick  sympathy. 
"  Poor  girl !  and  we  didn't  try  to  help  her  or  to  make 
her  feel  easy.  I  hate  myself  for  it.  I  see  how  mea,n  I 
have  been.  It  would  have  been  so  easy  to  have 
smoothed  things  for  her,  too  ! " 

Moreton  felt  a  temptation  to  seize  this  warm-hearted, 
impulsive  girl  and  press  her  close  to  his  breast.  Indeed 
he  had  a  right  to  be  sorely  tempted,  for  she  was  a 
strong,  lithe,  blooming  maiden,  whose  steadfast  honesty 
and  purity  glowed  in  her  eyes  and  on  her  lips.  Then 
there  was  the  dreamy  sunshine  and  the  checkered  shade 
and  the  softly  rippling  breeze  to  add  to  his  mood,  and 
yonder  was  the  slumberous  river  lapsing  away  between 
its  brakes.  But  he  satisfied  himself  with  simply  look- 
ing at  her  and  allowing  her  beauty  to  freshen  and 
sweeten  his  heart. 

"I  suppose  it  is  selfish  and  narrow,"  he  presently 
said;  "  but  I  am  heartily  glad  that  all  of  them  are  gone 
— that  we  are  left  alone  together,  aren't  you  ?  " 

She  laughed,  but  she  blushed  as  well,  and  looked 
away  from  him  as  she  answered  in  what  she  meant  for 
a  very  careless  tone : 

"  Oh,  I  like  company  and  bright  talk  and  the  excite- 
ment of  numbers ;  it  exhilarates  me.  This  will  be  a 
dull  old  place,  now  that  the  party  has  dwindled  down 
to  four  or  five.  I  hope  my  father  has  almost  run  the 
gamut  of  his  cartridges." 

"  Not  a  dull  place,"  he  said  with  a  peculiar  emphasis, 


158  A  T  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

"  a  dreamy,  fascinating  place,  rather.  The  river  yon- 
der, see  how  it  glimmers,  and  this  breeze  ;  I  never  was 
so  happy  at  any  place  as  I  am  here  and  now.  There  is 
a  sort  of  mystery  in  the  influence  of  things  around  us." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  quick  inquiry  in  her  clear 
eyes,  as  if  to  discover  whether  or  not  he  was  jesting. 
Something  in  his  bold  yet  tender  gaze  parried  her 
glance  and  her  lids  dropped.  She  drooped  her  head 
and  shoulders  a  little,  too,  as  if  under  some  suddenly 
imposed  burden. 

"  Aren't  you  very  happy  here  ?  "  he  went  on,  leaning 
a  little  toward  her.  "  I  want  you  to  be  very  happy." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'm  always  happy.  I  never  was  unhappy 
in  my  life,"  she  answered  with  a  show  of  vehemence, 
instead  of  the  careless  lightness  that  she  intended 
should  appear.  "  I'm  never  serious  enough  to  become 
sad." 

Moreton  looked  at  her  with  tender  fervor,  the  power 
of  love  full  upon  him,  and  yet  the  silly  rhyme  kept 
ringing  in  his  brain : 

"  The  light  of  her  eyes, 
And  the  dew  of  her  lips, 
Where  the  moth  never  flies 
And  the  bee  never  sips." 

Truly  love-making  has  all  of  human  nature  in  it, 
from  the  grandeur  of  extreme  exaltation  down  to  the 
mere  piping  of  sheerest  nonsense;  but  the  nonsense  for 
the  time,  is  just  as  sweet  as  any  part,  so  much  does  it 


A  BIT  OF  LOVE  MAKING.  159 

borrow  of  the '  rapture  of  the  occasion.  There  is 
comedy  of  a  slender  sort  in  it,  which  it  seems  a  sacrilege 
to  separate  from  the  sacred  part,  and  yet  we  all  are 
tempted  into  poking  quiet  fun  at  the  big,  strong  men 
who  awkwardly  dabble  in  love's  sweet  stream.  So  few 
of  them  can  come  boldly  down  to  the  current  and  at 
once  arrest  it  and  have  their  will  of  it  outright. 

"What  would  you  do  if  you  were  poor,  like  Miss 
Crabb,  and  had  to  face  the  world  and  struggle  for  life?" 
he  asked  with  an  absurd  inconsequence  in  his  manner 
and  voice. 

"  I  can't  imagine  such  a  thing,"  she  quickly  answered, 
"  I  really  can't.  It  would  be  very,  very  hard,  no 
doubt.  But  I  sometimes  think  I  might  be  of  more  use, 
that  my  life  is  quite  empty  of  real  value.  I  shouldn't 
know  how  to  do  any  useful  thing." 

"  You  might  make  some  one  happy.  That  would  be 
good." 

"  I  have  no  knack ;  I  am  selfish,  frivolous,  intent 
upon  my  own  happiness,"  she  said,  looking  up  with  a 
bright  smile. 

"  Just  a  word,  sometimes,  is  better  than  any  other 
alms,"  he  continued. 

"  Eleemosynary  cheerfulness  and  breath  of  charity, 
as  our  good  minister  is  fond  of  calling  it,"  she  responded 
with  a  gay  little  laugh.  "  I  do  sometimes  try  to  be 
agreeable  and  bright,  just  to  please  people." 

"  That's  mere  social  clap-trap,  it  doesn't  mean  any 


160  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

thing.  It  must  be  genuine,  don't  you  know — come  right 
out  from  the  heart.  You  must  really  desire  to  make 
some  one  happy." 

There  was  something  in  the  vehemence  of  his  voice 
and  manner  that  caused  her  to  look  into  his  eyes  with 
a  quick  change  from  her  careless  levity  to  a  puzzled 
gravity  of  expression,  that  would  have  amused  a  disin- 
terested observer. 

"  How  much  would  you  do  to  make  me  very  happy  ?" 
he  went  on,  speaking  as  if  the  question  might  be  one  of 
life  and  death.  "  You  would  like  to  make  me  happy, 
wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that — what "  Her  eyes  had 

drooped  and  she  made  an  unavailing  effort  to  lift  them 
again  to  his  face.  Here  was  his  opportunity. 

"  Because  I  love  you,  love  you  better  than  all  the 
world,  Cordelia,"  came  his  hurried  response.  His  arms 
made  a  quick  initial  movement,  instantly  arrested,  for 
the  place  was  not  just  suited  to  any  violent  demon- 
strations ;  then  he  added,  breathlessly : 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Cordelia?  " 

She  glanced  rapidly  around,  as  if  expecting  to  find 
in  the  landscape  some  relief  from  the  embarrassment 
that  flooded  her  cheeks  with  blushes.  Just  then,  Rey- 
nolds and  Mrs.  Ransom  passed  down  the  pathway 
leading  from  the  mansion  to  a  little  landing  on  the 
river,  where  a  small  boat  lay  moored.  They  were  too 
much  absorbed  in  conversation  to  notice  the  lovers, 


A  BIT  OF  LOVE  MAKING.  161 

though  they  could  almost  have  touched  them  as  they 
went  by.  Miss  Noble  remained  silent,  watching  Rey- 
nolds assist  his  graceful  companion  into  the  boat  and 
draw  in  the  little  painter.  Suddenly  she  looked  up  and 
very  demurely  said : 

"  They're  going  for  a  row  on  the  river  :  why  didn't 
we  think  of  that  ?  I  delight  in  going  out  on  the 
water." 

"  You  would  take  a  profound  delight  in  any  thing  just 
now  that  would  help  you  to  avoid  answering  my  ques- 
tion, wouldn't  you  ?  "  he  grumbled.  "  You've  forgotten 
what  it  was  I  inquired  about,  haven't  you  ?  " 

She  laughed  in  a  low,  clear  way.  Reynolds  and  Mrs. 
Ransom,  lightly  startled  by  the  sound,  turned  their 
faces  quickly  and  waved  a  greeting,  as  they  glided 
out  upon  the  placid  stream.  They  appeared  very 
happy. 

"  I  shall  not  be  put  aside  so  lightly,"  he  went  on  ;  "  I 
can't  bear  it.  You  must  answer  me,  Cordelia." 

"  Answer  you  what  ?  " 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  stood  gazing  down  at  her 
with  his  face  actually  pale  with  emotion. 

"  You  don't  mean  it  ?  You  can't  mean  to  drive  me 
from  you  in  this  way  ? "  he  cried,  his  voice  a  little 
husky. 

"  Sit  down,  do,  they're  looking  at  us — they'll  know 
what  it  is,"  she  murmured,  making  a  deprecatory  ges- 
ture with  her  hand. 


162  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

He  obeyed,  saying  rather  ungraciously  as  he  did 
so: 

"  What  if  they  do  know  ?  We  needn't  care,  they're  no 
better.  Reynolds  is  nearly  crazy  about  her ;  he  means  to 
propose  to  her  as  soon  as  they're  round  the  curve." 
He  could  not  help  laughing  a  little  at  his  own  absurd- 
ity. But  Cordelia  pretended  to  pout. 

"  You  should  not  say  such  things  about  Agnes  ;  she 
doesn't  deserve  your  levity." 

"  I  didn't  say  any  harm  of  her,"  he  hastened  to  reply. 
"  I  spoke  of  Reynolds  :  he  is  very  much  in  love.  You 
do  not  blame  him  for  thinking  a  great  deal  of  her — I 
don't  blame  him  at  all.  I  think  it  is  deuced  clever  of 
him,  don't  you  know." 

She  rose  as  if  to  go  away. 

"  Come,  now,  turn  about  is  fair :  you  made  me  sit 
down  again  when  I  got  up,"  he  said,  catching  her  hand 
and  gently  pulling  her  down  beside  him. 

What  further  was  said  between  them  has  never  been 
gathered  from  the  sweet  wind  that  bore  their  fragmen- 
tary murmurings  away  among  the  old  trees  and  down 
the  silvery  windings  of  the  river.  I  presume  that,  no 
matter  how  much  the  circumstances  of  courtship  may 
differ,  true  love,  in  the  hey-day  of  youth,  or  in  the  vig- 
orous prime  of  life,  has  certain  constant  quantities  by 
which  it  may  readily  be  known  ;  and  one  of  these  is  so 
sweet  that,  to  one  not  personally  interested,  it  narrowly 
misses  being  entirely  too  sweet  for  deliberate  discus- 


A  BIT  OF  LOVE  MAKING.  163 

sion.  John  Ruskin  has,  I  believe,  more  than  suggested 
an  amendment  to  the  ordinary  methods  of  love-mak- 
ing, but  lovers  seem  inclined  to  follow  the  old,  familiar 
rose-scented  plan,  no  matter  how  silly  it  may  appear  to 
superannuated  philosophers  and  art  critics. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AT  THE   RUIN. 

EYNOLDS  had  been  shut  away  from  society  for 
X\.  so  long  a  time  that  he  had  returned,  in  a  degree, 
to  the  susceptibility  and  receptivity  of  extreme  youth. 
We  grow  like  what  we  contemplate,  is  a  very  trite 
truth,  and  he  had  absorbed  much  of  the  outright 
simplicity  of  the  mountaineers,  without  losing  any  of 
the  character  he  had  long  ago  formed.  Self-knowledge 
may  be  very  valuable,  but  self-study  does  not  tend 
always  toward  happiness.  One  might  almost  venture 
to  say  that,  in  a  vast  majority  of  cases,  serious  self- 
analysis  amounts  to  remorse  if  nothing  worse.  More- 
over, one  usually  chooses  solitude  in  which  to  erect 
one's  furnace  and  laboratory  of  self-criticism,  where 
one  may  make  the  heat  as  high  and  protracted  as  one 
pleases.  The  result  is  usually  a  mass  of  unsightly 
slag  instead  of  the  fine  and  precious  metal  one  has 
hoped  to  turn  out.  Hence  it  is  that  a  hermit  returning 
to  the  world  after  years  of  seclusion  and  self-delusion 
finds  it  a  paradise  when  he  had  expected  to  see  it  a 
hell.  Men  and  women  are  so  much  purer  and  stronger 
and  nobler  than  he  had  pictured  them,  and  all  the 


A  T  THE  HUm.  165 

ways  of  human  social  life  are  so  much  sweeter  and 
fresher  than  his  diseased  brain  had  remembered  them 
to  be,  that  he  sloughs  his  crust,  like  a  serpent,  and 
comes  out  a  new  man. 

The  doctrine  that  evil  experiences  are  ever  of  value, 
or  rather  that  a  baptism  in  sin  ever  worked  a  positive 
good  to  the  recipient,  is  too  dangerous  to  be  received  ; 
but  it  sometimes  appears  that  there  is  an  annealing 
influence  exerted  on  character  by  the  intense  heat  of 
uncontrollable  passions,  tempering  it  at  last  to  the 
highest  degree  of  sensitiveness  and  susceptibility. 
Reynolds  was  aware,  in  a  vague  way,  of  the  change  so 
rapidly  going  on  within  him.  It  was  as  if  his  nature 
were  putting  forth  a  tremendous  spurt  of  power  with 
which  to  eject  from  its  tissue  the  evil  of  the  old  life. 
What  a  mystery  there  is  in  remorse  and  repentance 
and  reform !  But  how  much  greater  the  mystery  of 
evil,  that  terrible,  invisible  acid,  combining  with  all 
the  bases  of  human  nature  and  disintegrating  every 
crystal  of  beauty!  How  shall  the  stream  of  a  life, 
once  defiled,  be  purified?  The  simplest  reagent  will 
disclose  the  presence  of  sin,  but  what  process  will 
eliminate  it  ? 

The  Hand  that  made  the  mirror  must  remove  the 
spots  of  tarnish. 

Love  is  always  the  gateway  of  a  new  life.  When  its 
purple  mists  and  its  wafts  of  heavenly  perfumes  come 
upon  its  victim  his  whole  nature  feels  as  if  the  ultimate 


166  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

sources  of  impulse  had  been  cleansed,  sweetened  and 
electrified.  New  needs,  new  aspirations,  fresh  hopes 
and  the  dewy  vigor  of  morning  leap  into  the  heart. 
Ah,  then  how  bitter  is  the  memory  of  misdeeds !  Just 
then  if  Satan  would  get  behind  and  forever  disappear, 
what  a  relief !  What  a  joy  if  all  the  past  could  be 
wiped  out,  as  with  a  sponge,  and  existence  be  left  to 
date  from  the  advent  of  love  ! 

The  meeting  of  Reynolds  and  Mrs.  Ransom  was 
much  more  than  the  ordinary  contact  of  life  with  life, 
whereby  the  spark  of  passion  is  generated  ;  it  was 
significant  of  a  blending  of  their  past  experiences  as 
well  as  of  the  creation  of  a  new  life  for  both.  Even  on 
the  instant  when  a  mutual  interest  was  awakened,  their 
minds  flashed  back  over  the  past.  No  doubt  love 
ought  to  be  prospective  always ;  but  it  can  not  often 
be  so. 

Agnes  Ransom  could  not  realize  that  she  was  a 
widow.  It  was  more  as  if  a  very  sweet  romance  of  her 
experience  had  ended  in  sorrow  and  disappointment. 
She  looked  back  upon  the  short  space  of  her  wedded 
life  with  a  vision  dimmed  by  mists  and  shadows.  She 
was  half  aware  that  her  nature  had  gained  much  and 
lost  little  by  the  experience.  It  all  seemed  very  sad 
to  her,  and  yet  she  felt  that  the  sadness  was  rather  an 
atmosphere  of  the  past  than  of  the  present.  It  hovered 
somewhere  behind  her,  it  did  not  affect  the  future. 
Still  there  was  a  protest  somewhere,  gentle  and  weak, 


AT  THE  RUIN.  167 

but  quite  troublesome,  against  this  new,  strong,  imperi- 
ous, wayward  love,  now  rising  in  her  bosom  and  anon 
sinking  away  almost  into  the  depths  out  of  which  it 
had  come.  She  trembled  sometimes  with  a  great  fear, 
at  other  times  she  abandoned  herself  to  it  with  a  serene 
fullness  of  content. 

Close  to  the  river's  bank,  all  overgrown  with  wild 
vines  and  darkly  shadowed  by  clustering  trees,  there 
stood,  distant  about  a  mile  from  the  DeKay  place, 
an  almost  shapeless  pile  of  brick  and  stucco,  the  ruins 
of  a  once  stately  Southern  mansion.  It  had  been 
burned,  whether  by  accident  or  the  work  of  an  incen- 
diary is  not  known.  Some  tragic  legend  was  con- 
nected with  its  history — a  vague  story  of  hereditary 
feud,  bloody  encounter,  the  gloom  of  crime  and  the 
solemn  hush  that  follows  after  violent  death.  It  was  not 
a  story  ever  told  by  a  DeKay,  for  it  affected  the  history 
of  the  family  a  generation  or  two  ago.  The  very  oldest 
negroes  on  the  plantation  knew  something  of  the  dark 
outlines  of  the  tragedy ;  but  they  had  learned  not  to 
more  than  vaguely  hint  the  extent  of  their  knowledge 
by  equivocal  allusions  and  dubious  generalities.  The 
affair  dated  back  to  the  early  Alabama  days,  when 
slavery  was  in  its  most  prosperous  state  in  a  financial 
way,  and  when  chivalry,  so-called,  was  at  its  zenith. 
The  ruin,  with  its  picturesque  walls  overgrown  with 
vines,  was  a  fitting  monument  of  the  decay  of  medieval 
customs  in  the  South  as  well  as  of  the  downfall  of 


1 68  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

a  once  proud  and  in  many  ways  brave  and  generous 
family. 

It  was  towards  this  pathetic  pile  that  Reynolds  pulled 
with  vigorous  oar-strokes,  as  he  and  Mrs.  Ransom  set 
out  upon  the  river  from  the  little  landing  at  DeKay 
Place.  Unconsciously  and  with  the  ease  that  comes 
of  great  nervous  and  muscular  force,  made  ready  by 
his  recent  years  of  healthful  habits  and  out-door  train- 
ing, he  put  such  impulse  into  the  little  craft  as  made  it 
leap  like  a  skipping  fish,  leaving  a  whirling  wake  behind 
it,  gleaming  and  darkling  in  sun  and  shade.  He  had 
not  yet  spoken  of  love.  Indeed  his  heart  was  so  full 
of  this  new  and  sweetly  stormy  passion  that  he  could 
not  master  it  sufficiently  to  clothe  it  in  words.  He 
was  ever  at  the  point  of  speaking  and  ever  faltering 
and  holding  back  his  voice.  So  he  found  a  relief  in 
great  muscular  exertion.  It  was  love  thrilling  along  his 
nerves  and  sinews  that  made  his  arms  tireless.  He  felt 
as  if  each  long,  strong  sweep  of  the  oars  were  bearing 
Agnes  and  him  away  from  all  the  rest  of  the  world, 
away  from  the  past  and  into  a  sweet,  shadowy  solitude 
like  that  which  the  imagination  has,  in  all  ages,  seen 
swimming  on  the  furthest  horizon,  and  towards  which 
all  lovers  have  hopefully  but  vainly  steered  their  dream- 
ladened  barks. 

.  A  sense  of  unworthiness  repressed  and  almost 
smothered,  a  strong  conscience  bound  down  and  envel- 
oped in  the  fire  of  passion,  these  would  make  them- 


AT  THE  RUIN.  169 

selves  felt  in  a  dull,  heavy,  indefinite  way.  He  could 
not  shake  off  for  long  at  a  time  a  consciousness  that  all 
this  deep,  sweet,  strong  happiness  flooding  his  soul  to 
bursting,  was  ephemeral,  and  would  vanish  at  the  touch 
of  the  first  sinister  faux  pas  by  which  the  past  might 
be  uncovered. 

Mrs.  Ransom,  in  the  after  part  of  the  boat,  sat  facing 
Reynolds,  her  lissome  figure  in  an  attitude  of  almost 
childish  carelessness  and  grace.  She  was,  apparently, 
as  unaware  of  her  rare  charm  of  person  as  was  he  of  his 
immense  physical  power.  It  is  one  of  the  wholesomest 
of  out-door  influences  that  eliminates,  for  the  time,  the 
frivolous  conventionalities  of  social  life,  and  establishes 
in  their  stead  something  of  the  freedom  of  the  wind 
and  the  transparent  freshness  of  running  water.  Nature, 
by  some  occult  process,  reaches  our  hearts  and  sponges 
off  the  sediment  of  artificial  sentiment,  so  that  the 
simpler  elements  of  life  are  set  to  work  in  us  without 
any  hindrance.  Given  a  boat,  a  calm,  clear  river,  fine 
weather,  a  man  and  a  woman,  youth,  strength,  health, 
and  what  an  infinitude  of  happiness  may  be  expected ! 
It  is  often  the  case  that  human  experience  is,  under 
such  circumstances,  condensed  to  the  last  degree  of 
denseness,  or  expanded  to  an  ethereal  tenuity  never 
dreamed  of  in  the  hot-house  narrowness  of  city  life. 
Out-door  realities  are  so  strong  and  dreams  are  so  wide 
and  fair  where  the  sun  shines  and  the  air  is  full  of  balm 
and  the  water  flows  with  such  a  liberal,  far-going  mur- 


170  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

mur.  Tragedy  has  a  broader  and  deeper  significance 
enacted  without  any  stage  limitations,  and  comedy 
catches  a  sparkle  from  the  brooks  and  the  daylight  and 
the  starlight,  never  reflected  from  gas  jets  and  painted 
backgrounds. 

Very  little  was  said  between  Mrs.  Ransom  and 
Reynolds  in  the  time  it  took  to  reach  a  place  where 
they  could  land  near  the  ruin,  their  conversation  con- 
fining itself  to  observations  on  such  little  incidents  as 
happened  during  their  quick  flight.  Once  a  flock  of 
wood-ducks  sprang  in  a  rapid  whirl  from  the  water  near 
them  and  winged  their  way  up  the  stream,  their  bright 
colors  shining  with  a  peculiar  twinkle,  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  follow  them.  Little  shadowy  sandpipers  ran 
along  the  sandy  margins,  here  and  there,  or  flew  across 
from  bank  to  bank  with  their  comical  jerky  motion. 
In  some  places  the  reeds  grew  down  to  the  water's  edge 
in  dense  brakes  wherein  the  hermit  thrush  and  the  cat- 
bird could  be  seen  by  fitful  glimpses.  The  rapid 
movement  of  the  boat  kept  changing  the  point  of  view, 
and  at  each  change  some  new  arrangement  of  the  trees, 
the  cane,  the  tall  dry  stalks  of  water  grass  or  of  the 
bold  banks  of  the  river  attracted  the  eye. 

Reynolds  felt  the  stimulus  of  his  passion  tingling  in 
his  blood.  His  bronzed  cheeks  wore  a  faint  flush  and 
his  eyes  were  full  of  earnest,  tender  light.  He  stranded 
the  prow  of  the  boat  on  a  little  crescent  of  sand  at  the 
foot  of  the  bluff  and  helped  Mrs.  Ransom  out.  She 


AT  THE  RUIN.  \1\ 

had  directed  him  where  to  land,  and  now  he  turned  to 
her  and  asked  : 

"  Now,  how  shall  we  get  up  to  the  top  of  the  bluff  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  sort  of  stairway  yonder  by  that  old  tree," 
she  answered,  pointing  with  her  hand.  "  It  is  badly 
dilapidated,  but  we  can  climb  it  easily." 

Somewhere,  not  very  far  away,  they  heard  the 
booming  of  General  DeKay's  and  Mr.  Noble's  guns. 
The  sport  must  have  been  fine,  for  the  shooting  was 
rapid. 

They  found  the  stair — a  zig-zag  flight  of  crazy  steps, 
leading  up  to  the  plateau  above.  In  order  to  reach  its 
foot,  they  had  to  stoop  and  creep  under  the  low-hang- 
ing boughs  of  a  tree.  Reynolds  took  hold  of  her  arm 
to  help  her.  On  a  sudden  impulse  she  freed  herself 
from  him.  A  thrill  had  come  with  his  touch,  and 
something  like  fear  took  momentary  possession  of  her. 
She  fled  nimbly  up  the  steps  ahead  of  him,  as  if  she 
meant  to  escape  him  entirely.  He  scarcely  noticed  her 
start  and  her  haste,  for  some  vines  and  tangled  branches 
hindered  him  and  disturbed  his  vision.  When  she 
emerged  into  the  sunlight  of  the  level  space  on  the 
bluff,  Mrs.  Ransom  stopped,  ashamed  of  her  foolish 
flight,  and  turned  about  just  in  time  to  look  straight 
into  the  eyes  of  Reynolds,  as  he  was  surmounting  the 
topmost  steps. 

"  I  beat  you  climbing,"  she  exclaimed,  her  voice 
shaking  a  little  from  the  effect  of  her  exertion. 


172  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

"  I  feared  you  had  left  me  for  good  and  all,"  he 
replied  ;  "  but  how  pale  you  are  !  Was  your  effort  too 
violent  ?  Are  you  ill?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  responded,  the  negative  phrase 
peculiar  to  the  Southern  people  falling  with  a  sort  of 
breathless  readiness  from  her  lips.  "Am  I  really 
pale  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  said,  seeing  the  rosy  light  coming 
into  her  cheeks  again.  "  I  only  imagined  it ;  but  it  is  a 
difficult  place  to  climb,  and  you  came  up  like  a  bird. 
You  shouldn't  take  such  risks :  it  is  dangerous." 

He  looked  about  for  the  ruin.  A  tall,  heavy  chim- 
ney-stack rising  above  a  tangled  mass  of  wild  vines 
and  trees  answered  his  inquiry. 

"  Come  this  way,"  she  said,  leading  on  ;  "  there  is  a 
path,  further  up  the  slope,  that  goes  round  to  the 
entrance." 

He  followed  her  quick  movements,  and  soon  she 
stopped  before  an  arched  doorway  in  the  old  semi-cir- 
cular transom  of  which  a  few  pieces  of  stained  glass 
still  remained.  On  either  hand  stood  fragments  of 
stuccoed  pillars  all  festooned  with  vines.  She  paused 
but  for  a  moment,  then  went  under  the  arch  and  passed 
from  roofless  room  to  roofless  room  with  the  swift,  certain 
step  of  one  quite  familiar  with  the  place.  Every  where 
the  ivy  and  wild  grape  vines  had  draped  the  crumbling 
walls  and  heaps  of  rubbish,  so  that,  in  places,  bowers 
as  fanciful  as  those  of  fairy-land,  made  a  sweet  crepus- 


AT  THE  RUIN.  173 

cular  gloom,  though  the  foliage  was  mostly  gone.  He 
tried  to  reach  her  side,  but  her  quick  turns  and  elusive 
movements  kept  her  all  the  time  just  ahead  of  him, 
and  her  sweet  voice  came  back  to  him,  as  if  tossed  to 
him  over  her  shoulder,  luring  him  on  and  on,  in  and 
out  through  the  labyrinth  of  rooms.  Once  she  stopped 
for  the  merest  moment  to  look  out,  through  a  ragged 
opening  which  had  once  been  a  window,  down  upon 
the  placid  face  of  the  river.  He  came  close  to  her  and 
bent  low  to  gaze  over  her  shoulder.  She  felt  his 
breath  on  her  neck. 

"  How  lovely ! "  he  murmured,  in  that  deep,  rich 
voice  which  always  vibrated  so  strangely  in  her  ears. 
His  moment  had  come. 

"  Lovely,"  she  echoed,  and  slipped  away,  like  some 
shy,  wild  thing  afeard  of  its  own  voice. 

Reynolds  was  burning  with  a  desire  to  speak  to  her 
of  his  love,  and  she,  hardly  knowing  why,  felt  a  sweet 
dread  of  him.  She  tripped  along  through  what  had 
been  a  broad  hall  and  turned  into  an  open  space  where 
some  of  the  walls  had  crumbled  into  a  great  heap 
around  the  base  of  the  stack  of  chimneys.  Here  it 
was  that  suddenly  a  man,  wild-eyed,  shaggy-headed, 
ragged  and  gaunt,  sprang  up  before  her  in  a  menacing 
attitude  with  a  heavy  pistol  in  his  hand.  She  gave  one 
little  chirruping  scream,  threw  up  her  arms  and  sank  in 
a  crumpled  heap  to  the  ground.  Reynolds  sprang  for- 
ward with  a  loud  ejaculation.  His  movement  had  all 


174  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

the  appearance  of  a  furious  attack  upon  the  startled 
ruffian,  who,  in  sheer  self-defense,  as  he  thought,  raised 
the  pistol  and  fired.  Reynolds  felt  the  blow  and  the 
dull  pang  of  the  bullet  in  his  right  shoulder.  The  man 
did  not  fire  again,  but  turned  and  fled  through  the 
nearest  opening.  It  was  all  so  sudden,  the  whole  thing 
happening  within  the  space  of  half  a  minute,  that  no 
one  of  the  actors  had  time  to  get  more  than  a  glimpse 
of  the  situation  before  the  act  was  ended.  The  ruffian, 
as  was  afterward  ascertained,  was  a  condemned  mur- 
derer who  had  escaped  from  jail  just  the  night  before 
he  was  to  have  been  hanged.  No  doubt  he  was  lying 
asleep  when  the  approach  of  Mrs.  Ransom  startled  him, 
and  thinking  it  was  an  attempt  to  recapture  him,  he 
had  fired  and  fled.  The  sound  of  the  shot  roused  Mrs. 
Ransom  from  her  half  swoon  and  she  leaped  to  her 
feet.  Reynolds  put  forth  his  hand  and  touched  her  on 
the  arm. 

"  Be  calm — don't  get  scared,  I  can  protect  you,"  he 
said,  but  he  could  not  see  her.  A  cloud  was  in  his 
eyes  and  a  reeling  sensation  in  his  brain. 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  and  saw  how  deathly 
white  it  was. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  she  quaveringly  asked,  taking  a 
step  nearer  him. 

He  mumbled  some  unintelligible  answer,  felt  blindly 
about  in  the  air  with  his  hands,  staggered,  gasped 
hoarsely,  and  fell  at  full  length  upon  the  ground,  face- 


AT  THE  RUIN.  175 

downward,  arms  outspread,  and  lay  quite  still.  Sud- 
denly, to  Mrs.  Ransom,  the  silence  of  the  place  became 
awful,  dense,  impenetrable.  She  screamed,  but  her 
voice  seemed  not  to  go  a  yard  from  her  lips.  She 
stood  for  a  moment  with  clenched  hands,  her  face 
pinched  and  thin,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  prostrate 
form  of  Reynolds ;  then  she  threw  herself  down  beside 
him  and  tried  with  all  her  might  to  turn  him  so  that 
she  could  see  his  features ;  but  he  was  so  heavy  and 
she  so  weak  that  her  effort  was  vain.  She  called  for 
help  until  her  voice  became  thick  with  hoarseness. 

"Oh,  is  he  dead?"  she  wailed,  "is  he  dead?  Oh, 
won't  some  one  come !  Must  he  die  now !  Oh,  and  I 
love  him  so — love  him  so !  " 

It  was  as  if  her  grieving  words  called  him  back  from 
lifelessness,  for  he  moaned,  sighed  deeply,  and  by  a 
violent  struggle  turned  himself  on  his  side  with  his  face 
toward  her.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  inquir- 
ingly at  her  for  a  time,  then  he  closed  them  with  a 
weak,  tremulous  motion  of  the  lids.  She  clasped  his 
head  in  her  arms,  and  summoning  all  her  strength,  lifted 
it  upon  her  lap.  The  blood  was  beginning  to  ooze 
through  his  saturated  clothes  and  trickle  on  the  ground 
beside  him.  It  almost  crazed  her  to  see  this,  but  she 
was  as  powerless  as  a  child  to  help  him.  She  could 
but  bend  over  him,  and,  brushing  the  dark  heavy  hair 
back  from  his  forehead,  where  cold  beads  of  sweat  had 
risen,  kiss  him  again  and  again  in  the  ecstasy  of  her 


1 76  AT  LO VE 'S  EXTREMES. 

excitement.  He  was  not  unconscious  now,  but  he 
was  limp  and  nerveless,  his  immense  vitality  slowly 
gathering  itself  for  the  effort  to  recover  equilibrium. 
Faint  almost  unto  death  as  he  was,  he  felt  the  thrill 
her  kisses  sent  throughout  his  frame,  and  he  did  not 
note  the  pain  of  his  ugly  wound. 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  die,  you  must  not  die ! "  she 
wailed,  in  a  sobbing  voice.  "  Open  your  eyes  for  my 
sake,  John — for  my  sake,  do  you  hear,  for  I  love 
you  so ! " 

He  heard  every  word,  but  he  could  not  open  his  eyes 
or  move  his  lips,  though  slowly  and  surely  his  strength 
was  coming  back,  despite  the  rapid  loss  of  blood. 

The  pistol  ball  was  a  very  large  one  and  it  had  made 
a  bad,  almost  fatal  wound,  having  passed  through  his 
shoulder  and  a  part  of  his  chest,  barely  missing  the 
lung.  The  shock  had  had  a  paralyzing  effect,  causing 
the  insensibility  from  which  he  was  rallying. 

It  was  a  striking  picture  they  made  grouped  against 
the  dark  back-ground  of  the  old  wall,  with  the  dim 
light  falling  over  them.  If  a  broken  spear  and  a  cloven 
helmet  had  rested  hard  by,  it  would  have  served  well 
for  a  tableau  of  medieval  days,  a  lady  nursing  the 
head  of  her  fallen  knight  within  the  crumbling  ruins 
of  some  battered  castle. 

"  Why  did  we  ever  come  here!  Oh,  love,  my  own 
love,  open  your  eyes !  Speak  to  me :  say  you  will  not 
die,  you  will  not  die !  " 


AT  THE  RUIN.  177 

Her  words,  so  insistent,  so  despairing  and  so  pas- 
sionate, filled  his  consciousness  with  an  all-satisfying 
sense  of  happiness.  He  could  scarcely  understand  why 
she  should  not  be  willing  to  let  him  lie  quietly  and 
listen  to  her,  for  he  had  not  recovered  himself  suf- 
ficiently to  be  able  to  grasp  the  reality  of  her  suffering 
or  of  his  own  condition. 

"Speak  to  me,  speak  to  me,"  she  kept  reiterating, 
until  at  last,  like  one  freeing  himself  reluctantly  from 
a  sweet  dream,  he  moved  his  lips,  making  no  sound  at 
first,  but  presently  saying : 

"  Where  are  you,  Agnes  ?  " 

His  voice  was  so  strange  and  so  low  that  she  could 
not  catch  his  words.  She  bowed  her  head  so  that  her 
face  almost  touched  his. 

"What  is  it — what  did  you  say  ?  "  she  tenderly  asked. 

He  put  up  his  left  hand  and  swept  it  over  her  cheek 
and  down  along  her  shoulder.  Then,  as  his  wound 
began  to  pain  him,  he  groaned  in  a  suppressed  way. 

"  What  ails  me?  What — ah,  the  shot — he  hit  me,  I 
know — I  remember  now,"  he  said,  beginning  to  gather 
strength.  "  Let  me  sit  up." 

With  a  strong  effort  he  raised  himself  to  a  sitting 
posture  and  smiled  feebly. 

"  I  have  called  and  called,  but  no  one  will  come. 
What  shall  we  do?"  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands  and 
gazing  helplessly  at  him.  "  Oh,  why  did  we  ever  come 
here?" 


178  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

"  Be  calm,  darling,"  he  said,  looking  fondly  at  her, 
the  wan  smile  on  his  face  growing  more  intense.  "  I 
will  show  you  that  I  am  a  man  worthy  of  your  love." 
Then  he  arose  and  stood  up,  tall  and  beautiful  in  his 
strength,  before  her,  seeming  to  defy  his  wound  and  its 
pain,  though  his  face  was  pale  as  death. 

"  Come,"  he  added,  "  let  us  go  to  the  boat  and  return 
to  the  house.  Come,  I  am  strong  now,  and  I  love  you, 
Agnes,  my  own  little  woman — come  with  me." 

He  caught  her  with  his  unhurt  arm  and  drew  her 
hard  against  his  side.  With  a  swift,  firm  tread  he  went 
with  her  down  to  the  landing,  never  faltering  or  waver- 
ing until  he  had  fixed  himself  in  the  stern  of  the  boat 
and  directed  her  how  to  paddle  out  to  the  middle  of 
the  stream. 

All  this  time  he  had  been  losing  blood  and  his  pain 
had  been  excruciating.  He  had  made  a  grand  effort, 
and  now  the  reaction  came  with  a  power  that  he  could 
not  resist.  He  sank  back  with  his  head  resting  on  his 
arm  and  lay  there  as  white  and  lifeless  as  if  dead.  She 
thought  him  dead,  and  sat  there  numb  and  motionless, 
letting  the  boat  drift  with  the  gentle  current.  Every 
thing  about  her  appeared  shadowy,  misty,  unreal.  Her 
heart  scarcely  beat.  Why  was  it  that,  in  the  midst  of 
this  awful  trial,  there  came  to  her  mind  a  vivid  memory 
of  the  short  romance  of  her  married  life  down  on  the 
old  plantation  by  Mariana  ?  Some  of  those  days  were 
dreamily  happy  ones  with  her  wild  boy  husband — the 


AT  THE  RUIN.  179 

days  before  discontent  and  trouble  came.  Why  would 
the  reckless  blue  eyes  and  curling,  yellow  hair  waver 
before  her,  between  the  strong,  pallid  features  of  this 
man  whom  she  now  loved  with  such  fervor  ? 

Slowly  the  boat  drifted  on  in  the  sunlight,  between 
the  reed-covered  banks,  bearing  its  strange  load  down 
toward  the  DeKay  place.  It  was  a  dark  touch  with 
which  to  end  so  charming  an  idyl  as  the  past  few  days 
had  been ;  but  life  in  the  South  favors  the  tragic  and 
the  melodramatic :  it  is  the  life  of  passion  and  of  sudden 
changes. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  WHISPER   IN   THE   CABIN. 

ONE  day,  while  Reynolds  was  gone  to  General 
Dekay's,  White  came  home  from  Birmingham 
perfectly  sober  and  with  no  gambling  story  to  tell. 
Milly  met  him  at  the  gate,  as  usual,  with  the  same  piti- 
ful look  of  patient  inquiry  in  her  eyes.  He  chucked 
her  under  the  chin  and  in  an  uncommonly  cheery  voice 
said  : 

"  He  air  comin'  home  right  away  soon,  Milly,  I  hev 
hearn  from  'im  straight.  Go  an'  drive  up  the  steer  fer 
me,  won't  ye  ?  I  want  er  haul  er  jag  er  pine-knots 
purty  soon." 

"  I  don't  b'lieve  he  air  a  comin',  no  sich  a  thing.  I 
dremp  he  wer'  married,  an'  thet's  a  sign  o'  death.  How 
d'ye  know  he  air  a  comin'?"  She  spoke  almost  pet- 
tishly, looking  fixedly  at  her  father,  whose  pale  eyes 
wandered  aimlessly  from  object  to  object. 

"  I  seed  Mr.  Noble,  thet  banker  down  ther' :  he  hev 
come  back.  He  said  ter  me,  says  he,  '  The  Colonel,  he 
an'  Mr.  Moreting  air  comin'  nex'  week,'  thet's  what  he 
says  ter  me." 

Milly  let  her  eyes  fall  and  began  digging  in  the 
ground  with  the  toe  of  one  of  her  shoes. 


A    WHISPER  IN  THE  CABIN.  181 

"Thet  young  lady,  thet  Miss  Noble  down  ther',  hes 
she  kem  back  ?  "  she  presently  asked. 

"  La,  yes,  she  hev,"  quickly  replied  White.  "  Bless 
yer  life,  yes,  she  kem  with  'er  pap.  Oh,  yes,  she  kem 
too,  she  did." 

"What  meks  John  stay  so  long?" 

"  Oh,  him  ?  w'y  he's  a  havin'  a  stavin'  ole  time  er 
shootin'  quails  an'  a  drinkin'  er  fine  liquor  an'  er  smokin' 
good  seegairs.  Don't  yer  go  to  blamin'  him  fer  stayin' 
awhile  down  ther' :  hit  air  a  good  place  ter  be  at,  yer 
better  think." 

"  Seems  like  he  mought  never  come,"  she  murmured, 
and  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  started  to  go 
and  fetch  the  ox. 

White  went  into  the  house  and  shut  the  door. 

"  I  hev  a  bad  secret  to  tell  ye,"  he  said  to  his  wife, 
"  an'  I  don't  wan't  yer  ter  let  Milly  know  airy  breath 
about  it,  nuther." 

"  Well,  less  yer  what  it  air." 

"Ye  won't  tell  Milly?" 
. "  Nairy  word." 

"  Sarting  an'  sure? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  the  Colonel  he  air  shot." 

"Shot?" 

"  He  air." 

"Shot?" 

"  He  air,  sarting." 


1 82  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

"  Goodness !  an'  who  tole  ye  ?  " 

"  Thet  banker,  down  ther'  at  town,  Mr.  Noble,  he  tole 
me.  Hit  wer'  a  feller  'at  broke  jail  'at  done  hit,  a  out- 
dacious  murderer,  down  yer  at  some  other  town,  'at 
wer  a  goin'  ter  be  hung,  an'  some  friend  of  his'n  helped 
'im  ter  break  jail  an'  give  'im  a  pistol,  an'  he  put  out 
through  the  country.  Hit  seems,  f'om  what  thet 
banker  down  yer  says,  'at  the  Colonel  were  a  galivantin' 
off  to  some  lonesome  ole  house  wi'  a  widder  'oman,  'an 
thet  feller  he  wer  in  ther  an'  jes'  shot  'im  down." 

"  Goodness  alive  !  Hit  didn't  kill  'im  ?  The  Colo- 
nel he  hain't  dead  ?" 

"  No,  not  dead,  but  he  air  bad  off.  He  air  laid  up 
in  bed.  He  hev  got  a  hole  through  'im." 

Mrs.  White  began  filling  her  pipe  with  great  energy, 
her  husband  following  her  example.  There  was  a  space 
of  silence,  then  he  said  : 

"  We  hev  got  ter  lie  ter  Milly  fer  all  thet's  out. 
Hit'll  never  do  fer  her  ter  know  it  'at  the  Colonel's  hurt. 
She'd  go  'stracted." 

"  She  mought  jest  as  well.  Hit  air  no  use  er  foolin', 
he's  not  goin'  ter  hev  'er." 

"Hev  her!  Hev  her!  w'at  upon  the  airth  are  ye 
talkin"bout?" 

"Sh,e  loves  'im." 

"  Milly  ?     She  love  ?     She  love  him  ?  " 

"  Ye-es,  she-e  lo-ove  hi-im  !  "  drawled  Mrs.  White  in 
a  high  key,  wagging  her  head  with  each  word. 


A    WHISPER  IN  THE  CABIN.  183 

White  looked  at  her  in  utter  consternation. 

"  Thet  leetle  silly  gal  love  him  ?  W'y  she  air  no 
more'n  a  torn-tit  er  a  hominy-bird  ter  be  a  lovin'  the 
Colonel.  Shorely  she  hain't  gone  an'  been  no  sich  a 
dang  fool  es  thet!" 

"She  hev." 

"  How  d'ye  know?  " 

"  Hain't  I  got  no  eyes,  ner  years?" 

"  Ye  hev,  sarting,  an'  a  tongue." 

"  Now,  smarty !  Ye  think  ye've  said  somethin' !  " 

"  Beg  parding.  But  this  yer  stuff  'bout  love,  hit  air 
a  bad  thing.  I  commence  ter  see  into  some  er  Milly's 
cur'us  notions,  ef  thet  air's  the  case.  But  dang  ef  I 
b'lieve  sech  a  thing." 

"  Well,  hit  air  the  case,  an'  there's  more  ter  come.  Ye 
hain't  hearn  the  wo'st  part." 

"An*  what  d'ye  mean  by  thet?  " 

"  I  mean  a  heap,  thet's  w'at  I  mean." 

"  A  heap  er  what  ?  " 

"  Ef  ye'll  promerse  me  on  yer  wordy  honor  ter  keep 
still  tell  I  say  at  ye  may  go -free,  I'll  tell  yer  w'at." 

"  I  promerse,  sarting." 

"  On  yer  wordy  honor  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"I'm  erfeard ye'll  go  terbein'  a  fool  an'  makin'  a  fuss 
'fore  I  whant  ye  to.  'Cause  ye  see,  hit  mayn't  be  es 
bad  es  it  mought." 

As  Mrs.  White  said  this,  White  looked  searchingly 


1 84  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

into  her  face,  and  what  he  saw  there  caused  him  to 
move  uneasily  and  puff  his  tobacco  smoke  nervously. 

"  What  is  this  yer  what  yer  a  hintin' at,  anyhow?" 
he  demanded,  almost  fiercely. 

"  I  hain't  erbleeged  ter  tell  ye,  an'  I'll  jest  never  do 
hit  er  tall,  ef  yer  a  goin'  to  be  er  fool  an'  high-rantin' 
aroun1  like  ereejet  er  somethin'." 

"  Didn't  I  promerse  ye?  Hain't  thet  enough?  Ef 
hit  tain't,  what  d'ye  want  me  to  do?" 

"  W'y  I  whant  ye  ter  never  say  er  word  ter  nobody 
'bout  w'at  I  tell  ye,  tell  I  say  so,  not  a  single  word,  nor 
do  a  thing  'bout  hit  of  any  kind.  Do  ye  promerse?  " 

"Yes." 

"  On  yer  sacurd  wordy  honor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dang  it  all,  go  on  !  " 

"  Now  I'r  a  goin'  ter  tell  ye  somethin*  at  air  orful,  an' 
I  don't  know  w'at  to  do  erbout  hit.  But  'member,  yer 
promersed  me." 

"Yes." 

"  Ye'll  keep  right  still,  an*  never  say  a  word,  er  do  a 
single  thing  erbout  hit  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  tole  ye  thet,  long  ago,  'bout  a  dozen  times. 
Go  on,  an'  say  what  yer  a  goin'  to." 

They  were  looking  at  each  other,  as  people  do  who 
are  about  to  experience  some  grave  domestic  crisis. 
Mrs.  White's  sallow  face  had  suddenly  taken  on  a  hot 
flush,  and  her  eyes  looked  worried  and  hollow. 

"I  d'know  hardly  how  ter  say  hit  with  my  mouth," 


A    WHISPER  IN  THE  CABIN.  185 

she  falteringly  began.  "  I  wush  I  never  bed  a  been 
born'd,  no  how  !  " 

Tears  came  into  her  eyes  and  her  lips  quivered. 

White  leaned  over  close  to  her,  taking  the  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  and  said  in  a  low,  hoarse  voice : 

"  What  air  the  matter,  wife  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  heap,  a  heap  air  the  matter!  "  she  sobbed. 

White  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  brought  his 
ear  close  to  her  lips. 

"  Tell  me  now,  I  want  er  know,"  he  gently  and 
gravely  urged. 

She  whispered  something  in  a  rapid,  sobbing  way. 
Not  more  than  a  dozen  words,  but  White's  face  shriv- 
eled as  if  with  a  great  heat.  He  drew  back  from  her 
and  glared  like  a  wild  beast.  Not  a  sound  came  from 
his  writhing  lips.  His  thin  jaws  quivered. 

"  'Member  yer  sacurd  wordy  honor,"  said  the  woman. 
"Ye  promersed  me,  ye  know." 

He  got  up  and  tramped  aimlessly  around  the  room. 
Presently  he  took  down  his  long  flint-lock  rifle  from  its 
rack  over  the  door,  and  blew  into  its  muzzle. 

"Ye'll  not  brek  yer  wordy  honor?"  she  insisted. 

He  put  the  gun  back  and  came  and  sat  down  by  her 
again.  Just  then  Milly  opened  the  door  and  entered 
the  room  carrying  her  coarse  sun-bonnet  in  her  hand. 
The  exercise  of  fetching  the  ox  down  from  his  brows- 
ing place  on  the  mountain  side  had  put  a  bright  color 
in  her  cheeks,  and  the  wind  had  been  tossing  her  pale, 


186  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

straw-gold  hair  so  that  it  hung  in  elfish  tangles  about 
her  neck  and  shoulders.  She  scarcely  glanced  at  her 
father  and  mother. 

"  I  hitched  'im  out  ther',"  she  said,  referring  to  the 
ox,  and  passing  on  into  the  kitchen,  went  by  that 
round-about  way  into  Reynolds'  room.  She  was  very 
sly,  but  they  heard  her  moving  about,  and  knew  she 
was  once  more  re-arranging  his  things. 

They  looked  at  each  other  with  something  of  that 
hopeless,  dazed  expression  often  observed  in  the  eyes 
of  the  lower  animals  when  hurt  to  death.  Milly  had 
left  the  outer  door  open  and  the  cool  mountain  air 
poured  in,  rustling  vaguely  such  loose  articles  as  its 
current  could  stir. 

Little  more  was  said  between  the  man  and  his  wife, 
for  there  seemed  nothing  to  say.  A  cloud  had  settled 
over  their  compressed,  barren  lives.  Nothing  in  their 
natures  was  ready  or  flexible.  They  stared  at  fate,  as 
they  stared  at  each  other,  with  the  hopelessness  of  utter 
bewilderment. 

Days  went  by,  days  of  that  languid,  cloudless  weather 
which  comes  to  those  mountains  in  early  February,  and 
the  little  household  of  the  cabin  went  through  the  dry, 
spiritless  round  of  duties,  as  if  some  spell  had  fallen 
upon  them.  True  there  was  no  marked  visible  change 
in  their  way  of  life  ;  that  was  impossible.  The  limita- 
tions of  human  action  nowhere  else  are  set  with  such 
rigid  immutability  as  they  are,  and  perhaps  always  will 


A    WHISPER  IN  THE  CABIN.  187 

be,  in  those  cramped,  unfertile,  almost  barren  mountain 
regions  of  the  South.  No  advance,  no  retrogression  (save 
where  here  and  there  a  railroad  brings  its  little  whisky 
centers),  all  is  stagnant,  dull,  dry,  hopeless  poverty. 
Illiteracy,  sterility,  and  that  stubborn  conservatism 
which  is  born  of  them,  rest  like  an  atmosphere  around 
those  poor  people.  They  move  and  breathe  and  are 
stolidly  content. 

When  a  month  had  passed  and  Reynolds  had  not 
come,  Milly,  who  had  been  kept  in  ignorance  of  the 
true  state  of  affairs,  began  to  show  stronger  signs  of 
disappointment.  She  was  restless  and  anxious,  wan- 
dering about  the  house  or  leaning  upon  the  gate,  silent, 
sad-eyed,  expectant  and  hopeless  by  turns,  a  source  of 
deep  trouble  to  her  parents. 

Now  and  then  White  attempted  to  cheer  her  up,  but 
the  words  seemed  to  come  dead  and  meaningless  from 
his  dry  lips  when  he  would  say : 

"  He  air  a  havin'  a  outdacious  good  time  down 
ther',he  air,  an'  he  don't  like  ter  quit  off  yet.  Jest  ye 
wait  a  day  er  two  an'  'en  ye'll  see  'm  a  comin*  up  yer, 

Milly,  a  comin'  up  yer '  his  voice  would  most 

usually  fail  him,  but  he  would  go  on:  "Yes,  he  air 
comin'  back  purty  soon,  when  he  hev  hed  all  the 
shootin'  he  ken  git." 

Such  statements,  reiterated  so  often,  lost  a  large  part 
of  their  reassuring  power,  but  Milly  liked  to  hear  them, 
and  they  were  the  best  that  he  could  do. 


CHAPTER     XV. 

A  DISCLOSURE. 

THE  day  following  that  on  which  Reynolds  received 
his  wound  brought  letters  to  Moreton  from  his 
home  in  England,  with  intelligence  of  the  sudden 
death  of  his  father,  and  a  request  for  him  to  come  at 
once.  This  summons  was  so  urgent  and  peremptory 
that  nothing  short  of  immediate  departure  could  be 
thought  of.  So  he  went;  but  not  without  Cordelia's 
promise  to  become  his  wife,  and  not  before  he  had 
reached  a  full  understanding  with  Mr.  Noble  on  the 
subject.  It  was  hard  for  him  to  break  away  from  the 
sweet  meshes  in  which  he  was  entangled,  and  hard  for 
him  to  leave  Reynolds  lying  there  pale  and  emaciated, 
with  little  more  than  the  breath  of  life  in  him  ;  but 
he  could  not  stay.  He  promised  to  come  back  within 
two  months,  little  thinking  at  the  time  that  he  would 
never  see  Birmingham  again,  or  at  best  for  some  years 
to  come.  But  so  it  was.  When  he  reached  England  he 
found  that  the  best  interests  of  his  father's  estate 
required  the  sale  of  the  American  property,  and  that 
he  would  have  to  give  his  entire  attention  to  the 
home  affairs. 


A  DISCLOSURE.  189 

Soon  after  Moreton's  departure  Mr.  Noble,  following 
the  fashion  of  thrifty  Americans,  seized  upon  a  most 
favorable  offer  and  changed  his  place  of  abode  to  New 
York  City,  where  he  became  the  chief  of  a  strong 
banking  establishment  in  which  he  had  hitherto  held  a 
subordinate  interest.  So  that  by  the  time  that  Rey- 
nolds was  beginning  to  gather  strength  and  to  forge 
well  past  the  point  of  danger  from  his  hurt,  he  was 
left  alone  with  the  DeKay  household.  No  invalid  ever 
had  more  careful  nursing  or  had  thrown  around  him 
more  charming  influences.  General  DeKay  gave  his 
entire  time  and  attention  to  ministering  to  the  needs 
of  his  guest,  appearing  to  feel  that,  in  some  way,  as  a 
host,  he  had  been  careless  and  thus  to  blame  for  the 
almost  fatal  misfortune  to  one  of  his  party.  He  had 
formed  a  great  liking  for  Reynolds,  beginning  no  doubt 
with  the  young  man's  excellent  shooting  in  the  first 
day's  sport,  and  made  stronger  by  the  manly  qualities 
and  magnetic  influence  he  possessed  in  a  marked 
degree  ;  and  this  liking  shaped  itself  during  Reynolds' 
illness  into  an  attachment  very  rarely  engendered 
between  men. 

Mrs.  Ransom,  after  the  first  great  shock  of  the  adven- 
ture had  spent  its  force,  exhibited  a  quiet  courage  and 
fortitude  in  strong  contrast  to  her  girlish  weakness  up  at 
the  ruin.  She  was  tireless  in  her  efforts,  hopeful,  even 
when  the  doctors  doubted,  and  cheerful  when  every 
one  else  appeared  ready  to  despair.  She  seemed  to 


19°  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

rely,  with  perfect  confidence,  on  Reynolds'  power  to 
overcome  the  effect  of  the  hurt,  and  when  his  enor- 
mous vitality  began  to  assert  itself,  she  went  about 
the  house  with  a  gentle  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  serene 
light  in  her  beautiful  eyes  that  told  how  her  heart 
rejoiced.  To  know  that  he  was  under  the  same  roof 
with  her  and  that  he  loved  her  and  that  he  was 
getting  well,  filled  her  with  a  contentment  little  short 
of  perfect  happiness.  She  was  not  an  intellectual 
woman,  as  the  phrase  goes ;  she  knew  little  of  the 
world's  philosophies  and  sophistries,  but  she  was  a  true 
woman,  full  of  feminine  sentiment,  cleverness  and 
earnestness :  shy,  wary,  elusive,  and  yet  outright  and 
artless,  at  times,  as  any  child.  Her  beauty  was  of  that 
rarer  Southern  type  which  is  the  opposite,  in  most 
features,  of  the  fiery,  passionate,  voluptuous,  tropical 
model  which  has  been  unjustly  copied  into  art  and 
literature  as  the  representative  one. 

Beauty  that  shrinks  from  self-advertisement  and 
delights  in  blooming  in  a  sheltered  place  where  the 
light  is  never  over-strong,  secretes  such  essence  and 
fragrance,  takes  on  such  modest  and  delicate  color,  and 
holds  about  it  an  atmosphere  so  subtly  individual,  that 
it  is  not  within  the  power  of  brush  or  pen  to  portray  it 
so  easily  and  effectually  as  it  may  that  other  and 
coarser  and  possibly  more  vital  sort.  It  is  this  beauty 
that  a  pink  ribbon  to-day  or  a  bunch  of  violets  to-mor- 
row, or  any  other  simple  bit  of  adornment,  seems  so 


A  DISCLOSURE.  191 

perfectly  suited  to  as  to  appear  a  part  of  the  wearer. 
If  Agnes  Ransom  was  rather  below  the  best  womanly 
stature,  the  casual  observer  would  not  have  noticed  it, 
for  her  bearing  was  high  and  her  development  strik- 
ingly balanced,  or  rather,  so  evenly  balanced  as  not  to 
be  striking,  and  her  movements  had  the  smoothness 
and  rhythm  of  a  perfect  lyric.  She  was  a  woman  whose 
love  would  be  of  lasting  value  to  a  true  man,  and  to 
love  whom  would  generate  nothing  lawless  or  short- 
lived in  the  masculine  nature.  If  Cleopatra  stands  as 
one  type  of  eastern  beauty  and  passion,  Ruth  stands  as 
another.  A  woman  like  Agnes  Ransom  may  be  taken 
as  representing  very  fairly  a  certain  class  of  Southern 
women  who  carry  about  with  them,  even  in  old  age,  a 
girlishness  and  simplicity,  combined  with  a  shyness  and 
exclusiveness  often  mistaken  for  either  prudery  or  un- 
friendliness. Plantation  life  is,  to  an  extent,  a  lonely 
'one  in  a  climate  where  it  is  possible  and  pleasing  to 
spend  much  time  out  of  doors,  and  where  all  the  influ- 
ences of  out-door  nature  tend  to  generate  repose.  One 
can  not  but  observe  what  seems  to  be  the  effect  of  these 
influences  in  determining  the  physical  and  mental 
contour  of  the  Southern  girl.  She  is  slender,  well 
developed,  lithe,  graceful,  rather  inclined  to  repose, 
not  strikingly  intellectual,  has  strong  domestic  inclina- 
tions and  bears  about  with  her  an  air  of  provincial  inno- 
cency  and  na'ivet£  that  has  a  marked  flavor  of  the  isola- 
tion and  the  freedom  of  the  plantation.  Mrs.  Ransom 


1 92  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

had  been  very  little  in  city  society ;  a  winter  in  New 
Orleans  and  a  few  visits  to  Savannah  limiting  her 
experience  beyond  that  obtained  from  a  residence  in 
the  dreamy,  isolated  little  old  place  of  her  birth,  Pensa- 
cola.  She  was  not  a  Catholic,  but  the  rudiments  of  her 
education  had  been  obtained  in  a  convent,  and  some- 
thing of  that  demure  quietness  and  quaintness  of  man- 
ner characteristic  of  the  nun  had  remained  with  her. 
No  doubt  her  short  and  trying  married  experience  had 
modified  her  charms  of  person  and  character  to  an  in- 
teresting extent,  adding  an  inexpressible  value  to  her 
beauty.  A  trace  of  lingering  sadness,  slight  but  always 
present,  gave  a  mild  emphasis  to  the  purity  of  her  face 
and  the  low  music  of  her  voice.  Such  a  woman  could 
not  fail  to  touch  the  heart  of  a  fervid  and  passionate 
man  like  Reynolds,  whose  whole  nature  had  been 
introverted  for  years,  and  whose  life  had  been  so  long 
repressed  and  stagnant. 

During  the  half  delirium  of  his  fever,  while  the  inflam- 
mation of  his  wound  was  at  its  worst,  he  lay  and 
watched  her  come  and  go,  his  heated  vision  making  an 
angel  of  her  about  whose  ethereally  lovely  form  halos 
and  rainbow  colors  played  fantastic  tricks.  Sometimes 
the  apparition  was  double,  and  then  one  of  the  angels 
took  the  form  of  poor  little  Milly  White,  whose  haunt- 
ing, hungry  face  flashed  with  a  heavenly  light.  But  as 
he  grew  stronger  and  the  fever  left  him,  it  was  Agnes 
Ransom,  the  pale,  sweet,  earnest  little  woman,  that 


A  DISCLOSURE.  193 

controlled  his  every  thought.  He  was  content  to  lie 
there  and  patiently  wait  on  nature's  slow  work  so  long 
as  she  hovered  near.  He  felt  securely  fixed  in  her 
love.  Every  word,  that  in  the  stress  of  agony,  she  had 
uttered  up  there  in  the  ruin,  lay  like  some  divine  germ 
in  his  heart,  growing  and  strengthening  with  every 
moment.  He  did  not  seek  to  have  her  say  more  and 
he  said  little  himself.  When  she  fetched  flowers  from  the 
out-door  conservatory,  grand  cream-white  and  blush 
camellias,  roses,  jasmine  and  violets,  and  arranged  them 
on  the  odd  little  mahogany  table  by  his  bedside,  he 
would  whisper  some  tender  phrase  of  thanks  and  love, 
and  then  she  would  sit  by  the  window  and  read  aloud 
to  him  some  forgotten  romance,  such  as  is  to  be  found 
in  every  ancient  Southern  library.  Happy  invalid  !  to 
have  such  balm  for  his  wound  !  And  so  the  days  of 
his  convalescence  drew  by,  not  in  pain  and  fretfulness 
and  impatience,  but  freighted  with  the  richest  gifts  of 
love.  He  was  like  one  in  some  favored  nook  of  fairy 
land,  realizing  the  tenderest  visions  of  dreams. 

One  day,  near  the  first  of  March,  when  he  had  grown 
able  to  sit  propped  up  on  a  sofa  by  a  window,  whence 
he  could  look  out  over  the  broad  landscape  to  where 
the  sky  came  down  to  the  tufted  woods,  or  turn  his 
eyes  upon  short  silvery  bits  of  the  river,  he  said  to  her: 

"  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  go  away.  I  feel  my  strength 
coming  back  with  every  breath." 

She  looked  up  from  the  needlework  that  she  chanced 


194  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

just  then  to  have  in  hand,  and,  with  one  of  her  slow, 
sweet  smiles,  shook  her  head. 

"  You  must  not  begin  to  hurry.  You  must  be 
patient,  ever  so  patient.  A  moment  of  haste  might 
cause  a  month  of  trouble.  You  can  not  afford  to  run 
any  risks." 

"Oh,  I  am  patient,"  he  replied.  "I  really  find  myself 
dreading  to  get  well,  selfish  wretch  that  I  am.  Do  you 
observe  that  I  never  take  into  consideration  the 
immense  trouble  I  am  causing  all  of  you  ?  I  think  of 
nothing  but  the  charmed  life  I  am  living — the  sweet 
comforts  I  am  receiving." 

"  I  really  believe  you  are  getting  well,"  she  said. 
"When  you  talk  in  that  strain  I  know  you  are  but 
trying  to  hide  a  longing  for  your  mountain  air  and  the 
freedom  of  your  hermitage." 

"  You  do  me  wrong,"  he  responded,  with  an  earnest 
resonance  in  his  voice.  "  I  am  so  content  to  be  as  I 
am  that  when  I  go  to  sleep  I  do  not  even  dream  of 
being  well." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  the  doctor  says  that  a  quiet 
mind  is  the  best  salve  for  a  healing  wound." 

"  You  had  better  not  convince  me  that  the  doctor  is 
right,  for  I  might  be  tempted  to  get  restless  in  order 
to  prolong  my  period  of  delicious  convalescence. 
Beware,  if  you  don't  want  me  lolling  in  easy  chairs  or 
propped  on  cushions  and  pillows  for  you  to  minister  to 
all  the  season." 


A  DISCLOSURE.  195 

"  Oh  I  shall  know  it  if  you  begin  to  take  on  the  air 
of  a  professional  invalid,  and  shall  discharge  you  at 
once,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  light  laugh.  "You  won't 
be  interesting  as  a — a  sham  !  I  hate  shams  and  deceits 
and  hidden  things  of  every  sort." 

He  looked  at  her  with  such  a  sudden,  though  barely 
noticeable  change  of  expression  in  his  eyes,  that  her 
quick  intuition  told  her  of  some  serious  thought  that 
had  leaped,  unbidden  and  unwelcome,  into  his  mind. 

"  Hidden  things,"  he  said,  with  a  peculiar  smile. 
"  Hidden  things  are  often  much  better  hidden  than  dis- 
closed, and  it  is  a  mercy  to  the  world  that  secretive- 
ness  is  one  of  the  strongest  elements  of  human 
nature." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  she  said,  growing  grave  and  thougtit- 
ful.  "  But  it  would  be  so  much  better  if  there  were 
never  any  need  to  exercise  one's  secretive  faculties." 

"  Oh,  a  dormant  faculty  would  be  contrary  to  the 
economy  of  nature.  Even  confession  catches  a  precious 
fragrance  from  the  transgression  long  hidden  away. 
Conscience  would  not  even  be  ornamental,  much  less 
useful,  if  it  bore  no  treasure  of  sins  known  to  it  only." 
He  spoke  in  an  airy,  idle  manner,  but  there  went  with 
his  tones  a  ring  of  something  not  quite  pleasing. 

"You  shock  me,"  she  exclaimed,  in  perfect  earnest- 
ness, a  clpud  gathering  in  her  eyes.     "  I  hope  you  do 
not  believe  in  such  ugly  and  dangerous  doctrines." 
Immediately  he  gathered  in  his  straying  thoughts 


1 96  AT  LOVE'S  EX TXEMES. 

and  crushed  down  the  memory  that  was  nagging  at  his 
consciousness.  He  felt  with  sudden  clearness  how 
easily  he  might  turn  away  from  him  the  confiding  earn- 
estness of  this  sensitive  woman,  and  attract  from  her  in- 
stead the  interest  born  of  a  doubtful  sort  of  fascination. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  them,"  he  smilingly  answered. 
"  I  was  merely  giving  rein  to  an  idle  whim  of  the 
moment.  On  the  contrary,  I  believe  in  perfect  frank- 
ness in  all  things.  Confession  and  forgiveness  are 
together  the  safety-valve  of  society,  as  they  are  chief 
among  the  Christian  virtues." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  relief  in  her  tone. 
"There  is  as  much  to  ask  as  to  grant  in  that  law.  I 
could  not  quite  respect  myself  if  I  should  deceive  any 
one,  and  I  should  feel  it  a  triumph  of  duty  over  the 
strongest  bias  of  my  nature  if  I  should  thoroughly  for- 
give one  who  had  willfully  deceived  me." 

"But  you  would  forgive  such  an  one,"  he  hastily 
exclaimed,  looking  almost  eagerly  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  should  feel  it  incumbent  upon  me  to  try  with  all 
my  might,"  she  responded. 

"One  who  would  deceive  you  in  a  matter  of  any 
moment,"  he  observed,  with  a  warmth  and  vehemence 
that  fairly  startled  her,  "  would  deserve  never  to  know 
forgiveness.  He  would  be  a  monster  outside  the  limi- 
tations of  the  Christian  code." 

"You  shouldn't  say  that,"  she  replied,  a  pink  spot 
appearing  on  either  cheek.  "  It  would  be  a  great  deal 


A  DISCLOSURE.  tgf 

worse  to  deceive  some  one  more  ignorant  and  much 
weaker  than  I.  I  have  had  many  opportunities,  denied 
to  a  large  number  of  young  women.  I  ought  to  know 
better  how  to  evade  the  evils  of  falsehood  and 
deceit." 

Reynolds  did  not  speak  for  some  minutes.  A  swell 
of  the  fragrant  south  wind  came  through  the  window, 
and  the  first  mocking  bird  of  the  season  was  singing  in 
a  magnolia  tree  at  the  further  angle  of  the  house.  The 
drowsy  charm  of  spring's  earliest  stirrings  hovered  in 
the  sky,  the  air,  the  far-spreading  fields  and  the  shim- 
mering glimpses  of  water.  Something  like  the  warn- 
ing of  a  distant,  scarcely  audible  voice  was  ringing  in 
his  ears.  Below  his  dreamy  happiness  he  could  feel  the 
beginnings  of  a  vague  uneasiness. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  presently  said,  and  he  did  not 
realize  the  almost  brutal  directness  of  his  words, 
"yours  was  a  bitter  and  burning  disappointment.  You 
deserved  every  thing  that  you  hoped  for,  nothing  that 
you  received." 

Her  face  grew  pale  and  flushed  at  once,  so  that  the 
spot  on  either  cheek  shone  like  carmine  on  a  milk-white 
ground.  She  looked  helplessly  at  him  with  her  lips 
slightly  parted  and  her  eyes  beaming,  as  if  through  a 
haze. 

"  Oh,  I  have  pained  you  !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  such 
a  penitent  and  sorrowful  intonation  that  she  made  a 
weak  effort  to  smile.  "  Forgive  me,"  he  went  on  rap- 


I98  A  T  LO  VE  'S  EXTREMES. 

idly.  "  I  seem  in  an  unfortunate  groove  to-day.  You 
know  I  would  not  wound  you  for  the  world." 

"  It  relieves  me  that  you  have  said  what  you  have," 
she  replied,  after  a  pause,  "  for  it  tells  me  that  you 
know  my  past.  I  wanted  you  to  know,  and  I  could  not 
tell  you.  I  did  not  see  how  I  ever  could  begin  or 
how " 

"  Let  it  pass,  let  it  go  by  like  the  wind,"  he  mur- 
mured ;  "  the  future  is  all  ours,  we  will  make  it  as  pure 
and  lovely  as  the  sky  yonder,  won't  we,  love  ?  " 

She  crossed  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  smiled  on  him 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  How  grand  and  beautiful  he 
appeared  to  her,  reclining  there,  with  his  stalwart  limbs 
outstretched  and  his  manly  face  beaming  with  love. 
It  was  a  quick,  uncontrollable  impulse  that  caused  her 
to  say,  with  a  tender  tremor  in  her  voice: 

"  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  I  loved  him  and  that  if 
he  were  alive  now  I  would  still  love  him,  notwithstand- 
ing all  that  has  happened." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  all  right,  all  right,"  he  quickly 
responded.  "  It  is  sweet  of  you  to  feel  so  ;  but  he  is — 
he  is  not  alive,  you  know,  and — " 

"  Sometimes  I  have  dreamed  that  it  is  not  true — that 
he  is  not  dead,  but  may  be  living  yet.  I  never  could 
get  the  particulars,  the  country  was  in  such  turmoil  and 
he  was  so  far  away.  Somehow  the  thought  has  haunted 
me  that  some  day  he  will  come  back." 

A  strange  grim  look  settled  on  Reynolds'  face. 


A  DISCLOSURE.  199 

"  He  will  never  come  back,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  I  know  he  will  not.  It  is  fool- 
ish for  me  to  allow  the  thought  to  enter  my  mind,  but 
it  will,  and  I  can  not  drive  it  out." 

"  You  must,  Agnes,  you  must,"  he  exclaimed  with  a 
rush  of  passion,  "  for  my  sake,  love,  for  my  sake." 

She  sat  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and  then,  as  the 
tears  welled  up  afresh  in  her  tender  eyes,  she  replied : 

"  You  know  how  gladly  I  would,  but  I  can  not.  It 
grows  upon  me  since — since  I  have  known  you,  and  it 
will  not  be  banished.  Sometimes  I  find  myself  actually 
going  to  the  door  to  look — " 

"  Hush  !  Oh,  Agnes,  I  can  not  bear  it,"  he  cried,  his 
face  growing  pale  with  extreme  excitement.  "  My 
God  !  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  all." 

"  Tell  me  all  ? "  she  plaintively,  inquiringly  mur- 
mured, looking  wonderingly  at  him,  for  something  in 
his  voice,  his  face,  his  manner  had  given  to  his  words 
a  mysterious  power. 

"Yes,  I  will  tell  you,  though  it  drive  me  from  you 
forever.  I  see  that  I  must,  that  it  is  my  duty."  He 
paused  and  hesitated.  "  I  know,"  he  went  on,  "  that  I 
am  rushing  into  the  dark,  but  I  trust  you,  Agnes,  and 
I  know  you  will  do  right — you  will  do  no  hasty  thing. 
Remember,  oh,  remember  how  I  love  you." 

"  I  can  not  understand — what  is  it  you  mean  ?— 
what— 

"  No,   you    can    not  understand,   but  you    will ;    it 


200  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

requires  but  a  sentence."  Again  he  faltered,  and  with 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  hers  in  a  way  that  almost  terrified 
her,  seemed  to  be  rapidly  choosing  his  words  before 
continuing. 

"  I  am  the  man  who  fought  with  your  husband,  and — " 

"  No,  no,  no!  "  she  exclaimed,  holding  her  hands  out 
toward  him,  her  face  ghastly. 

"  Yes,"  he  resumed,  "yes,  it  is  so.  He  was  to  blame. 
He  forced  it  upon  me.  I  could  not  escape  him.  He 
would  have  killed  me." 

She  let  her  hand  fall  in  her  lap  and  sat  in  a  helpless, 
horrified  attitude. 

"  You  will  hate  me  now,  Agnes,  but  I  have  disclosed 
my  secret  and  my  dreadful  duty  is  done.  For  the  sake 
of  my  great  love,  say  no  bitter  word." 

She  did  not  speak.  How  could  she?  Such  a  dis- 
closure coming  so  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  and  from 
his  lips,  crushed  her  into  that  silence  which  is  next  to 
the  silence  of  death. 

He  trembled  now  and  his  voice  broke  as  he  said  : 

"  Do  you  see  how  hard  it  is  ?  I  refused  to  fight  with 
him,  because  I  did  not  believe  in  the  practice  of  duel- 
ing, and  then  he  forced  an  encounter  in  the  street  of 
San  Antonio.  I  did  every  thing  to  avoid  him,  but  I 
could  not.  I  had  to — to  do  what  I  did.  Can  you 
comprehend,  Agnes?" 

Still  she  remained  speechless,  motionless,  bowed 
down  and  awfully  pale. 


A  DISCLOSURE.  2OI 

"  I  don't  want  to  make  any  unmanly  excuses — I 
would  spare  him  for  your  sake ;  but  he  was  all  in  the 
wrong,  and  it  would  be " 

She  stopped  him  with  a  quick  gesture. 

"  I  can  not  hear  this  now — I  am  too  weak  and  ex- 
cited. I  must  go.  Excuse  me.  I  must  go."  She  arose 
almost  with  a  spring  and  passed  swiftly  out  of  the  room. 

A  feeling  of  desolation  swept,  like  a  breath  of  noisome 
air,  through  the  breast  of  Reynolds.  It  was  as  if  the 
whole  world  had  become  a  desert  and  his  life  a  dreary, 
void  waste.  And  yet  there  was  a  sense  of  relief,  as  if 
a  great  load  had  been  cast  aside.  A  load  indeed,  but 
not  all  the  load  he  carried.  He  tried  in  vain  to  feel 
that  his  whole  duty  was  done.  He  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands,  but  he  could  not  shut  out  the  truth.  His  whole 
past  life  lay  like  a  fiercely  illuminated  panorama  under 
his  inward  gaze.  Ah,  by  what  a  zig-zag  path,  through 
what  torments,  had  been  his  course !  And  how  he  had 
always  panted  for  happiness  !  Must  it  end  here  ?  He 
raised  his  head  and  smiled  in  a  way  that  would  have 
been  terrible  to  see.  He  clenched  his  hands,  his  eyes 
flamed.  All  the  melodramatic  fierceness  and  fervor  of 
the  old  South  had  come  upon  him.  He  was  ready 
with  desperate  courage  to  fight  all  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

CONVALESCENT. 

MRS.  RANSOM  kept  her  room  for  several  days. 
The  shock  she  had  received  from  Reynolds'  con- 
fession carried  with  it  something  more  than  the  pre- 
dicament might  at  first  view  imply.  She  had  loved 
her  husband  with  all  that  romantic  fervor  characteristic 
of  girlhood  in  a  warm  climate.  He  was  a  handsome 
youth,  bright,  impulsive,  brave,  passionate,  reckless, 
holding  her  to  him  by  that  strange  fascination,  which 
we  all  know  but  can  not  account  for,  exerted  by  the 
bad  over  the  good.  When  he  had  appeared  to  desert 
her  she  was  not  surprised,  and  the  news  of  his  death  by 
murder  saddened  without  shocking  her  beyond  endur- 
ance. With  the  lapse  of  time  the  effect  of  her  trouble 
had  softened  and  faded  ;  but  she  had  never  ceased  to 
remember  with  a  warmth  of  devotion,  more  of  the 
imagination  than  of  the  heart,  perhaps,  the  lover  and 
the  husband  of  her  romantic  girlhood.  To  be  sure  it 
had  grown  to  seem  no  more  than  a  tender  dream,  that 
period  of  love  and  happiness  ending  in  gloom,  but  its 
memory  haunted  her. 

Reynolds  had   in   some  way  thrilled   her  life   with 


CONVALESCENT.  203 

something  more  potent  than  that  girlish  adoration  \vith 
which  she  had  honored  her  boyish  husband.  His  influ- 
ence over  her  was  so  strange  and  so  new  to  her  experi- 
ence, so  sweet  and  yet  so  masterful,  so  overwhelming. 
His  love  had  shown  her  how  little  she  had  ever  known 
of  love  before,  love  in  its  highest  and  perfectest  devel- 
opment. 

But  this  dreadful  discovery — this  dark,  strange  con- 
fession, fell  upon  her  just  at  the  time  when  it  could 
have  the  effect  of  darkening  as  with  the  shadow  of  both 
crime  and  death  the  whole  of  her  life.  It  seemed  a 
stroke  of  fate  so  malignant,  so  merciless,  so  far-reach- 
ing, so  unutterably  terrible. 

Reynolds  suffered,  but  not  as  she  did.  He  was 
gloomy,  impatient,  restless,  but  his  wound  continued  to 
heal  rapidly  and  his  bodily  strength  hourly  increased. 
His  physical  constitution  was  so  elastic  and  vigorous 
that  nothing,  it  seemed,  could  long  disturb  its  equilib- 
rium. Mentally,  however,  he  was  a  man  of  extremes, 
surging  to  the  furthest  stretch  of  the  tether  in  whatever 
direction  impelled.  Now  he  was  in  the  deepest  pit 
of  despondency.  The  whole  light  of  life  had  gone 
out. 

As  if  to  render  his  state  more  dreary  by  contrast, 
the  weather  waxed  with  sudden  fervor  into  all  the 
golden  splendor  of  a  semi-tropical  spring.  A  sprink- 
ling of  pale  green  tassels  and  tender  leaflets  appeared 
on  certain  deciduous  trees,  and  the  grasses  peculiar  to 


204  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

the  region  began  to  shoot  up  bright  spikes  in  the 
warmer  spots  of  the  brown  fallow  fields.  A  dainty 
woody  odor  pervaded  the  air  and  the  mocking  birds 
and  brown  thrushes  sang  gayly  in  the  old  trees  about 
the  mansion.  The  sky  assumed  a  hue  of  such  rich, 
tender  azure  as  is  observed  nowhere  save  in  the  low 
country  in  especially  favorable  weather.  And  the  river 
(what  stream  is  more  beautiful  than  the  Alabama?) 
seemed  to  go  by  with  some  rhythmic  impulse  but  half 
repressed  in  its  broad,  almost  silent  current. 

Left  much  alone  during  these  days,  Reynolds  natu- 
rally enough  indulged  in  retrospection  ;  but  his  thoughts 
rarely  went  further  back  than  to  that  tragedy  in  the  far 
West  which  had  let  fall  upon  his  life  the  almost  insuf- 
ferable shadow — a  shadow  rendered  doubly  dense  by  its 
effect  upon  his  present  prospects.  Often  his  gloomy 
reflections  stopped  at  the  mountain  cabin  and  lingered 
with  its  inmates.  The  face  and  form  of  Milly  White, 
once  so  meaningless  to  him,  were  rapidly  assuming  a 
significance  that  would  not  be  ignored.  Even  his  deep 
passion  for  Agnes  Ransom  and  the  brooding  dread  of 
its  hopelessness  now,  could  not  shut  away  the  accusing, 
vaguely  insistent  eyes  of  the  little  mountain  girl.  The 
isolation  of  that  lonely  plantation  house  gave  him  no 
sense  of  separation  from  the  sources  of  his  trouble. 

One  day,  it  was  quite  early  in  the  morning,  Uncle 
Mono,  the  old  negro  musician,  came  along  in  the  plat 
below  the  window  of  the  room  in  which  Reynolds  sat, 


CONVALESCENT.  205 

and  chancing  to  glance  up,  doffed  his  dilapidated  hat 
and  said :  . 

"  Mo'nin',  boss,  how's  ye  comin'  on  dis  mo'nin', 
sah?" 

"  Oh,  very  well,  Uncle  Mono,  thank  you,"  responded 
Reynolds,  smiling  mechanically  down  on  the  black, 
wrinkled  face  so  queerly  ornamented  with  its  shocks  of 
almost  snow-white  wool.  "  How  is  Uncle  Mono  ?  " 

"  Po'ly,  boss,  po'ly.  Got  some  'flictions  in  de  spine 
ob  de  back,  an'  los'  my  ap'tite  some.  Ole  dahkey  no 
'count  no  mo'  no  how.  Done  see  all  my  bes'  days  long 
'go,  boss." 

Mono  had  a  long-handled  hoe  on  his  shoulder.  He 
was  a  sturdy,  well-fed  looking  old  fellow,  with  any  thing 
but  unhappiness  in  his  shrewd,  deep-set  eyes. 

"What  are  you  up  to  this  morning,  Mono?"  Rey- 
nolds idly  inquired,  leaning  at  ease  on  the  window-sill. 

"  Gwine  ter  plant  some  watermillions,  boss  ;  got  some 
pow'ful  good  seed  yah,  got  'em  outer  a  watermillion 
what  wus  a  million  fo'  sho'.  I  allus  hab  a  fine  patch, 
boss,  kase  I  neber  plants  no  po'  seed.  Yo  'member 
de  book  say  :  '  Yo'  reaps  what  yo'  sow,  an'  ef  yo*  sows 
de  win'  yo'  reaps  de  whirlwin'  sho'.'  ' 

"That  is  a  true  saying,  Mono,"  said  Reynolds.  "It 
holds  good  in  the  matter  of  all  kinds  of  crops." 

"  Now  yo's  a  gittin'  ter  de  marrer  ob  de  subjec',  boss. 
'Tain't  many  young  men  see  it  dat  way,  do'.  Dey 
mos'ly  sow  a  little  ob  de  win'  jes'  fo'  ter  see  how  it 


206  A  T  LO  VE  'S  EXTREMES. 

wo'k ;  but  de  way  dey  cotches  hell  fo'  it  at  de  end  ob  de 
row  am  cunnin'  ter  see.  I  knows  all  'bout  it,  boss  ;  I's 
ben  dah,  /  has.  'Spec'  you's  ben  poo'ty  rapid,  too, 
boss,  yo'  got  de  gallopin'  cut  o'  de  eye.  I  knows  a 
rus'ler  w'en  I  see  'im.  Yo'  no  slow-goin'  creeter,  boss, 
yah !  yah  !  yah  !  yah-h-h  !  "  The  old  wretch  chuckled 
and  guffawed,  as  if  his  sayings  had  stirred  his  feelings 
boisterously.  The  active  wrinkles  in  his  face  made  it 
ludicrously  expressive.  Reynolds  made  no  response. 

"  I  kin  tell  w'en  I  see  a  young  feller,  whedder  he  like 
de  spo't  er  sowin'  a  leetle  win'  an'  kinder  hanker  fo'  de 
'citement  ob  de  whirlwin'.  Yo'  no  spring  chicken, 
boss,  yo's " 

"  Be  off,  you  old  vagabond ! "  stormed  General 
DeKay's  military  voice  from  somewhere  among  the 
shrubbery. 

"  Vag'bon',  vag'bon',  I's  no  vag'bon,  no  mo'  'n  some 
white  folks  I  knows  ob,"  Uncle  Mono  muttered,  very 
careful  that  the  general  should  not  hear  him,  and  then 
shuffled  away  to  plant  his  melon  seeds. 

The  sort  of  flattery  intended  to  be  conveyed  by  the 
old  negro's  expressions  fell  with  a  peculiarly  disagree- 
able effect  upon  the  mind  of  Reynolds.  It  seemed 
quite  devoid  of  the  humor  which  Mono  by  his  nods 
and  winks  and  grimaces  had  meant  to  enforce.  It  had 
come  like  a  direct,  malignant,  personal  accusation,  all 
the  more  disagreeable  on  account  of  its  source.  He 
gazed  out  across  the  little  plat  and  through  the  tree- 


CONVALESCENT.  207 

tops  beyond  toward  the  patches  of  blue  sky,  without 
noting  any  of  the  softness  and  beauty  of  the  view.  It 
chafed  him  immeasurably  that  he  could  see  no  escape 
from  his  tormenting  situation.  What  was  the  use  of 
struggling  against  the  pressure?  He  felt  all  the  verve 
and  force  of  life  slipping  out.  He  was  not  weaker 
than  most  men  whose  passions  are  deep  and  turbulent 
and  whose  imagination  is  fervid  and  flexible.  He 
passed  easily  from  one  extreme  to  another.  He  could 
not  dally  on  the  middle  ground.  Looking  back  now, 
he  saw  no  good  in  all  his  past  life,  and  looking  forward 
he  felt  no  expectation  of  good  in  the  future.  With  his 
arm  resting  along  the  window-sill  and  his  head  droop- 
ing across  it,  he  did  not  hear  the  light  foot-fall  on  the 
floor.  A  hand  was  passed  over  his  hair.  When  he 
turned  Mrs.  Ransom  stood  near  him,  with  her  sweet 
blue  eyes  bent  with  a  measureless  meaning  of  love 
upon  him.  He  almost  shrank  from  her  at  first,  then 
he  would  have  clasped  her,  but  she  eluded  him  and  sat 
down  in  a  chair  beyond  his  reach. 

"You  are  appearing  so  much  better,"  she  said,  with 
a  little  constraint  in  her  voice,  but  not  disclosing  any 
excitement.  Her  beautiful  face  was  a  trifle  pale  and 
there  were  faint,  dusky  lines  under  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  am  nearly  well,  I  hope,"  he  replied,  abetting 
her  in  the  effort  to  make  the  occasion  have  a  common- 
place appearance. 

"  It  is  such  sweet  weather.     Do  you  hear  my  mock- 


208  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

ing  birds?"  she  inquired,  trying  to  smile.  "They 
have  been  having  a  stormy  concert." 

"Yes,  they  have  had  a  real  war  of  song  all  the 
morning,"  he  answered. 

A  long  space  of  silence  ensued,  during  which  they 
heard  Uncle  Mono  chanting  an  African  ditty  to  a 
lagging,  melancholy  tune,  while  he  worked  in  his  patch 
some  distance  away.  Presently  Reynolds  almost 
abruptly  said : 

"  You  have  been  ill,  your  aunt  says.  I  am  so  glad 
you  are  with  me  again.  I  have  been  lonely  and — and 
sad.  I  was  afraid  you  were  worse  than  your  aunt 
would  acknowledge." 

"It  is  all  over  now,"  she  replied  with  a  short, 
repressed  sigh.  "  Do  you  feel  strong  enough  to  walk 
out?  The  morning  is  very  inviting." 

"  It  is  a  happy  thought,"  he  almost  cheerily  re- 
sponded, rising  and  taking  up  his  hat ;  "  let  us  go  out 
at  once.  I  am  tired  of  being  indoors,  despite  the  good 
nursing  I  have  had." 

They  passed  into  the  broad  hall,  where  she  took 
from  a  table  her  hat,  on  which  the  twisted  sprig  of 
mistletoe  still  remained,  just  as  he  had  fixed  it  on  the 
day  of  the  shoot,  and  thence  they  went  forth  among 
the  magnolia  trees  on  the  front  lawn. 

"  One  can  never  quite  lose  sight  of  the  river  here," 
said  Reynolds  ;  "  see  how  it  shines  under  the  boughs 
yonder.  Isn't  it  fine  ?" 


CONVALESCENT.  209 

"  Have  you  noticed  that  the  gentle  roar  it  had  some 
weeks  ago  is  almost  silenced?"  she  asked. 

"  I  had  not,  but  I  do  now,"  he  answered  ;  "  what  is 
the  cause?" 

"  It  has  fallen  so  low  that  its  current  is  too  sluggish, 
I  suppose;  but  Uncle  Mono  and  the  rest  of  the 
negroes  have  a  pretty  saying  that  the  river  sings  till 
the  mocking  birds  begin,  and  then  it  becomes  silent  in 
order  to  listen  to  their  voices." 

"  That  is  a  poetical  idea." 

"  They  have  a  more  grotesque  one  about  the  moon 
crossing  the  river." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  They  claim  that  if  one  takes  a  skiff  and  goes  to 
the  middle  of  the  river,  exactly  at  midnight  when  the 
moon  is  full,  one  may  see  the  moon  in  the  water  mak- 
ing all  sorts  of  wry  faces  at  the  moon  in  the  sky." 

"  I  have  observed  that  myself,"  said  Reynolds,  very 
gravely. 

"The  moon  making  faces?  "she  exclaimed  with  a 
little  smile,  looking  inquiringly  up  into  his  face. 

"Yes,  the  skiff  or  the  wind  breaks  the  surface  of  the 
water  into  ripples  which  cause  the  reflection  of  the 
moon  to  appear  to  do  all  manner  of  fantastic  things." 

"  Oh,  I  understand  it  now.  I  had  never  thought  of 
that." 

"  But,"  she  added,  after  a  moment  of  silence,  "  it 
would  be  cruel  to  explain  away  Uncle  Mono's  fanciful 


210  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

legend  or  myth  of  the  Alabama  and  the  moon.  Don't 
you  think  so?" 

"The  old  scamp  is  not  so  ignorant,"  said  Reynolds. 
"It  would  not  be  so  easy  as  you  might  imagine 
to  destroy  his  stories.  He  would  have  plenty  of 
expedients  for  evading  the  demonstrations  of  natural 
philosophy." 

"  I  should  hope  he  would,"  she  said,  "  for  there  is 
something  fascinating  in  all  his  grotesqueries.  They 
seem  to  have  a  smack  of  genuine  African  wildness  of 
poetry  in  them." 

They  sat  down  on  a  low  wooden  bench,  mossy  with 
age  and  exposure  to  the  weather,  under  a  grand  mag- 
nolia tree.  Here  they  were  in  the  full  tide  of  the 
breeze  with  all  the  freshness  and  fragrance  of  the 
morning  around  them.  The  dingy  old  house,  so  large 
and  plain  and  yet  so  picturesquely  Southern,  was  just 
sufficiently  removed  to  be  nearly  lost  in  its  vines  and 
trees.  Reynolds  felt  some  sort  of  dread  lest  their  con- 
versation should  fall  away  from  the  lightness  with 
which  it  had  begun — a  dread  almost  betrayed  when  he 
said  : 

"Can't  you  think  of  another  negro  conceit  ?  I  am 
sorry  I  spoiled  the  one  about  the  moon." 

"  They  have  a  story  of  the  owl  and  the  magnolia 
bloom,"  she  answered,  after  a  pause.  "  They  say  that 
the  big  laughing  owl  comes,  in  his  wisdom,  every 
spring,  when  the  buds  of  the  magnolias  are  just  on  the 


CONVALESCENT.  Ml 

point  of  opening,  and  says  to  the  tree :  '  Hold  fast, 
hold  fast ;  if  you  speak  now  you'll  lose  your  influence 
for  a  whole  year/  but  the  tree  does  not  heed  the  wise 
counsel.  It  opens  its  lips  (the  petals  of  its  flowers)  and 
spills  its  perfume.  Then  the  owl  laughs  dismally  and 
the  tree  has  no  more  perfume  for  a  year." 

"  That  doesn't  sound  much  like  a  thought  of  savage 
origin.  It  has  a  weak  touch  of  civilization  in  it  some- 
where." 

"  Oh,  the  negroes  have  gathered  liberally  from  us, 
no  doubt,"  she  said,  reflectively  stirring  some  dry  leaves 
with  the  toe  of  her  tiny  boot. 

It  vexed  him  that  this  action  reminded  him  of  Milly 
White.  He  rubbed  his  forehead  to  try  to  dissipate  the 
thought.  Perhaps  there  was,  scarcely  known  to  him- 
self, a  deeper  reason  for  his  irritation  in  the  conscious- 
ness that  they  both  were  beating  against  the  wind  to 
reach  some  common  ground  from  which  they  might 
banish  forever  any  allusion  to  what  they  felt  must 
always  remain  a  dreary  memory.  After  a  long  silence, 
Mrs.  Ransom,  with  the  outright  courage  of  her 
womanly  sense  of  what  was  for  the  best,  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  approach  the  point. 

"  This  thing,  that  you  told  me  of  the  other  day,  must 
be  our  secret.  The  world  has  no  right  to  it.  I  have 
considered  it  from  every  point  of  view  possible  to  me, 
and  I  can  see  no  other  safe  or  proper  course.  Am  I 
right  ?  " 


212  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

Reynolds  was  startled  by  the  steadiness  and  firmness 
of  her  voice  and  manner,  but  he  clutched  eagerly  at 
the  comfort  of  her  suggestion,  so  like  an  echo  of  his 
own  thought. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  he  replied.  "  I 
was  on  the  point  of  saying  it  myself.  Let  us  bury  the 
subject  forever.  It  is  one  of  the  inscrutable  turns  of 
fate  over  which  we  never  had  control.  It  is  in  the 
past.  Let  it  stay  there." 

"  I  thought  at  first  that  I  could  not  bear  it,  but  it 
came  to  me,  after  the  first  shock,  that  you  are  the  one 
most  burdened  and  that  I  ought  to  help  you,"  she 
responded,  with  an  infinite  tenderness  in  her  voice.  "  I 
know  you  were  not  to  blame." 

"  God  knows  how  true  that  is,  and  how  I  love  you," 
said  he,  in  a  husky  accent,  his  cheeks  pale  with  intense 
feeling,  his  eyes  burning  strangely. 

Her  face  was  turned  somewhat  from  him,  and  as  he 
looked  at  its  fine  profile  and  gentle  grace  of  expression, 
he  upbraided  fate  with  unutterable  rebuke  because  he 
had  not  been  allowed  to  see  and  know  her  before  any 
ill  had  befallen  her.  How  little  he  understood  the 
value  that  trouble  and  sorrow  had  added  to  her  charms. 
He  thought  of  nothing  but  the  pathetic  aspect  of  her 
experiences  and  the  effect  of  her  past  and  his  upon  the 
present  and  the  future.  He  chafed  under  the  convic- 
tion that  this  secret  which  they  now  held  between  them 
would  never  fall  back  among  those  cast  aside  things 


CON  VA  LE  SCENT.  2 1 3 

that  form  the  rubbish  of  the  past,  but  would  stay  close 
to  them  ready  to  come  into  view  at  any  unguarded 
moment.  In  fact,  would  they  not  have  to  keep  always 
this  common  burden  well  in  view  in  order  not  to  allow 
the  cover  to  fall  from  it  ? 

"  Does  your  shoulder  pain  you  ?  "  she  asked  ;  but  she 
knew  that  it  was  an  older  and  more  dangerous  hurt 
that  caused  the  pallor  in  his  cheeks. 

"  No,  it  is  coming  along  finely,"  he  answered,  with 
an  effort  at  cheerfulness.  "  I  shall  be  going  away  in  a 
few  days." 

"  Not  so  very  few  ;  you  are  not  strong  yet." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  am  beginning  to  feel  quite  like  myself, 
and  my  wound  is  almost  healed." 

"  I  shall  miss  you  when  you  are  gone,"  she  said, 
with  a  little  smile.  "You  have  been  my  patient  so 
long." 

"  Do  you  imagine  that  I  can  stay  away  ?  Don't  you 
know  that  I  will  be  back  surprisingly  soon  ?  How  can 
I  live  where  you  are  not,  Agnes?" 

Just  a  hint  of  color  suffused  her  cheeks.  She  dropped 
her  eyes  in  a  charming  way,  with  that  girlish  air  dis- 
closing itself  in  her  outlines,  and  yet  some  indefinable 
expression  of  great  trouble  remained. 

"You  will  find  the  mountains  delightful  at  this  time 
of  the  year,"  she  said.  "  The  spring  is  very  forward. 
The  wild-flowers  will  be  out  and  the  mountain-slopes 
will  be  growing  green." 


2 T 4  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREME S. 

"  But  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  up  there.  More- 
ton  is  gone,  the  Nobles  are  gone :  it  will  be  very 
lonely." 

"  Then  why  go  at  all?  Stay  with  us  as  long  as  you 
can,"  she  said,  with  all  the  old  naivet£  in  her  voice. 
"  The  bass-fishing  is  beginning,  uncle  says,  and  you  and 
he  can  enjoy  it  together.  The  spring  fishing  is  very 
fine  here." 

"  That  will  insure  my  return,"  he  said,  with  the  first 
laugh.  "  But  I  shall  have  to  go  up  to  Birmingham  and 
look  after  some  affairs.  They  are  running  a  coal-switch 
into  some  of  my  lands,  and  I  must  see  to  leasing  some 
of  the  best  veins.'** 

"  Such  lands  must  be  quite  valuable.  Have  you  a 
large  amount  ?  "  she  asked,  but  she  could  not  have 
told  why. 

"  I  have  a  great  many  acres,  but  the  extent  of  the 
coal  deposits  remains  to  be  ascertained.  I  have  been 
offered  a  large  sum  for  the  estate,  however." 

"  I  can't  visit  Birmingham  any  more,  now  that  Cor- 
delia is  gone.  I  wish  she  could  have  staid.  She  is  a 
charming  friend,"  she  said,  with  that  inconsequence 
which  is  so  apparent  in  written  conversation,  but  which 
runs  unnoticed  through  the  oral  intercourse  of  even 
the  best  talkers. 

"  A  few  days — a  week,  at  furthest — will  set  all  my 
things  to  rights,"  he  continued.  "  And  then,  if  I  may,  I 
will  come  back  to — to  try  the  bass  with  General  DeKay." 


CON  VA  LE  SCENT.  2 1 5 

It  is  by  such  bridges  of  straw  that  many  a  gulf  is 
spanned  ;  but  who  can  successfully  laugh  at  the  struc- 
ture, no  matter  how  fragile,  if  it  is  able  to  serve  the 
purpose  for  which  it  is  built?  Happy  is  he  who  can 
at  will  bind  together  or  hold  apart  the  incidents  of  life 
with  the  almost  imperceptible  gossamer  threads  of 
tact. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  they  had  managed  to  forget 
themselves  somewhat,  and  it  was  with  a  feeling  closely 
akin  to  annoyance  that  Mrs.  Ransom  read  on  a  card 
brought  to  her  by  a  servant — "  MALLORY  BERESFORD." 

"  Mr.  Beresford  has  come,"  she  said,  a  decided  flush 
coming  into  her  cheeks,  "  and  wishes  to  see  me.  I 
shall  have  to  go,  I  suppose.  Will  you  return  to  the 
house  now  ?" 

"  No,  I  will  get  some  more  air.  You  will  come  back, 
won't  you,  when  he  is  gone?  " 

"Yes;  that  is,  if  he  doesn't  stay  too  long,"  answered 
she  with  a  bright  smile. 

Reynolds  let  his  eyes  follow  her  lithe  and  supple 
form  as  she  walked  briskly  toward  the  house.  She 
was  carrying  her  hat  in  her  hand  and  there  was  a  bit 
of  bright  ribbon  fluttering  back  over  one  shoulder  and 
down  her  back,  under  her  dark  coil  of  hair.  Touches 
of  the  Southern,  the  warm,  the  dusky,  the  dreamy,  filled 
in  the  spaces  of  the  picture  beyond  and  around  and 
over  her.  The  light  brush  of  her  feet,  in  the  crisp, 
fallen  leaves  and  tufts  of  grass,  came  back  to  him,  and 


216  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

along  with  it  a  thrill  sweeter  and  more  mournful  than 
any  chord  of  the  JEotian  harp.  He  shook  himself, 
drew  his  hand  across  his  face,  arose  and  strolled  idly 
about  under  the  trees. 

"  It  is  worth  a  great  effort,"  he  was  thinking,  "  and  I 
shall  succeed.  Life  gives  up  its  measure  of  happiness 
at  last  to  the  brave  and  earnest.  The  past  shall  not 
mold  my  future  and  hers.  I  will  take  her  and  go 
abroad.  She  shall  forget,  among  the  beauties  and 
interesting  changes  of  travel,  all  this  foolish  panorama 
that  our  imaginations  have  made  out  of  the  coinci- 
dents and  calamities  for  which  neither  of  us  is  to  blame. 
Oh,  we  shall  be  happy  yet !  "  He  held  his  head  high 
and  his  eyes  flashed  with  mingled  hope  and  defiance. 

When  he  thought  of  Milly  White  he  added:  "I 
shall  not  forget  to  repay  her  for  all  her  faithfulness 
and  childish  affection." 

Faithfulness  and  childish  affection !  Faithfulness 
and  childish  affection !  the  echo  went  ringing  away  into 
the  remotest  nooks  of  his  consciousness.  For  a  time  he 
struggled  hard  and  finally  he  hurled  memory  aside  to 
give  himself  wholly  up  to  forming  plans  for  the  future. 
But  no  one  is  vigilant  enough  to  keep  unwelcome 
guests  long  out  of  the  chamber  of  his  brain.  They 
flit  in  so  swiftly  at  any  chance  opening.  How  giant 
strong  and  yet  how  furtive  and  silent  they  are ! 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DREAMS  AND   PLANS. 

"T)  EYNOLDS  lingered  in  the  pleasant  shadows  of 
1  V  the  magnolia  trees,  now  slowly  walking  to  and 
fro,  now  resting  on  some  one  of  the  old  lichen-grown 
seats,  his  thoughts  oscillating  between  the  past  and 
the  future.  He  was  aware,  but  not  vividly,  of  how 
aimless  and  cowardly  his  life  until  now  had  been,  and 
he  was  not  quite  sure  that,  no  matter  how  strong  might 
be  his  present  purpose,  the  cowardice  did  not  still 
linger  with  him.  One  thing  he  did  realize  perfectly  : 
that  he  had  not  told  the  whole  truth  to  Agnes  Ran- 
som. He  might  have  avoided  killing  her  husband 
had  he  been  prompted  by  the  highest  moral  motives. 
If  before  the  act  he  had  been  as  willing  to  fly  from  San 
Antonio  and  go  bury  himself  in  the  lonely  depths  of 
Sand  Mountain  as  he  was  after  the  blood  was  on  his 
hands,  he  could  to-day  look  up  into  the  bright  sweet 
sky  and  feel  no  load  on  his  heart.  But  then,  Heaven 
forgive  the  thought,  Agnes  could  not  have  been  his  ! 
It  was  with  a  dull,  almost  stolid  sense  of  the  gloom 
and  hopelessness  of  his  situation  that  he  at  the  same 


2 1 8  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

time  pondered  the  possibilities  of  the  future.  Through- 
out his  consciousness,  too,  independent  of  the  past  or 
the  future,  the  present  fact  of  Agnes  Ransom's  love 
for  him  diffused  itself  with  constantly  increasing  power, 
warmer,  more  vitalizing,  more  glorifying  than  sunshine 
and  spring-tide  and  virile  health  combined.  He  knew 
and  he  did  not  know  that  he  was  trying  to  deceive 
himself  and  the  woman  he  loved.  He  was  aware  and 
he  was  not  aware  that  all  his  reasoning  regarding  the 
future  was  sophistry  and  that  the  things  of  the  past 
were  not  dead.  He  smiled  there  under  the  dusky 
trees  as  if  he  were  a  guileless  youth  in  the  sweet 
wonder  of  his  first  love.  He  held  his  head  high.  Had 
he  not  flung  all  weights  of  memory  behind  him  and  set 
his  eyes  on  a  fair  and  calm  future  ?  Yes,  he  was  going 
to  be  happy.  He  was  already  happy.  He  would  take 
Agnes  far  away,  beyond  the  sea,  where  no  hint  of  the 
past  could  ever  come.  At  length  he  caught  a  distant 
glimpse  of  Beresford  going  away,  and  then  a  little  thrill 
of  pity  stole  into  his  bosom.  The  man  looked  lonely, 
even  at  that  distance,  and  moved  as  if  bearing  a  burden 
of  trouble,  or  so  at  least  Reynolds'  imagination  colored 
the  apparition. 

Mrs.  Ransom  did  not  come  forth  immediately.  She 
had  borne  the  interview  with  firmness,  and  had  tried 
to  soften  with  such  art  as  she  could  command  the 
wound  she  was  forced  to  inflict.  Beresford  was  a 
gentleman  as  well  as  a  man,  and  whilst  he  had  urged 


DREAMS  AND  PLANS.  2 1 9 

his  plea  with  all  the  passion  of  a  strong  nature,  he  had 
taken  his  final  dismissal  with  the  dignity  of  a  courage- 
ous, if  not  lofty  soul. 

When  he  was  gone,  the  reaction  upon  Mrs.  Ransom's 
sensitive  and  already  sorely  taxed  nerves  was  more 
than  she  had  expected,  and  she  went  to  her  room  and 
cried.  It  seemed  so  bitter  a  thing  to  do  to  one  so 
earnest  and  honorable  and  gentle. 

Reynolds  saw  the  traces  of  tears  on  her  face,  when 
at  last  she  did  come  out  to  look  for  him,  but  he  avoided 
saying  anything  to  call  up  an  explanation.  She  told 
him  the  story,  however,  in  her  straightforward,  simple 
way,  acknowledging  her  regret  and  her  tears,  and  end- 
ing with  some  outright  praise  of  Beresford's  worthi- 
ness. 

"  I  am  sorry  he  came,"  said  Reynolds.  "  I  felt  for 
him  when  I  saw  him  going  away ;  but  what  else  could 
you  do?" 

"  Did  he  look  sad  ? "  she  inquired  with  perfect 
naivete",  a  sweet  sorrowfulness  in  her  voice. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  tell,  he  was  too  far  off,"  answered 
Reynolds.  "  It  will  all  come  right.  We  will  not  allow 
our  imaginations  to  follow  him.  I  must  tell  you  my 
plans.  I  hope  they  will  be  your  plans  too." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  but  did  not  speak. 

"  First  of  all,  Agnes,"  he  went  on,  "  will  you  be  my 
wife  ?  "  The  words  fell  dryly,  strangely  on  her  ear. 

They  were  standing  close  to  a   tree  and   she   was 


2 20  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

lightly  leaning  against  the  bole.  She  felt  a  quick  but 
vague  sense  of  fear,  or  something  akin  to  it,  strike 
coldly  into  her  heart. 

It  was  inexplicable,  an  almost  irresistible  impulse 
toward  flight  took  hold  of  her.  She  could  not  speak. 
Something  forbade  it. 

"  Answer  me,  Agnes :  you  will  marry  me,  won't  you, 
love  ?  "  His  voice  was  low  and  appealing. 

Her  trepidation  and  weakness  were  but  momentary. 
She  mastered  herself  by  a  strong  effort,  and,  with  a 
brave,  earnest  smile,  put  both  her  hands  in  his. 

"Yes,  I  will  marry  you,"  she  said. 

He  lifted  the  hands  swiftly  and  kissed  them,  then  he 
led  her  to  one  of  the  seats. 

"  I  have  been  planning  such  a  delightful  life  for  us," 
he  began,  and  with  passionate  eloquence  went  on  to 
disclose  his  idea  of  their  going  abroad,  for  a  time  at 
least,  to  live  in  Italy  or  Switzerland  or  France,  together, 
for  each  other,  the  blissful  life  of  love. 

Her  imagination  responded  readily  to  his  eloquent 
descriptions,  and  her  face  was  soon  aglow  with  enthusi- 
astic interest.  She  had  always  dreamed  of  foreign 
travel,  and  the  subject  was  one  into  which  she  could 
cast  herself  with  all  the  abandon  of  a  child.  He  saw 
with  delight  how  his  proposition  pleased  her,  and  he 
talked  with  a  freedom  and  earnestness  that  were  irre- 
sistible. They  were  now  very  happy  lovers  indeed, 
and  the  time  sped  on  golden  wings  until  a  servant 


DREAMS  AND  PLANS.  221 

came  to  call  them  to  luncheon.  They  had  slipped 
away  from  the  troubles  that  had  haunted  them  into 
the  true  realm  of  the  young — the  rosy  region  of 
dreams. 

The  mid-day  meal  at  the  DeKay  place  was  not,  as 
is,  perhaps,  the  prevailing  custom  on  plantations,  the 
principal  one.  Dinner  came  on  early  in  the  evening 
and  was  all  the  more  enjoyable  on  account  of  the 
delightful  temperature  of  the  hour  throughout  most 
of  the  year. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  a  young  gentleman  from  an 
adjoining  plantation  came  down  the  river  in  a  little  boat 
to  make  a  friendly  visit.  He  had  been  one  of  the  guests 
on  the  day  of  the  shoot,  a  dapper,  talkative  youth  whose 
fund  of  good  spirits  made  him  welcome  at  all  times. 
He  liked  wine  and  tobacco,  was  somewhat  of  a  horse- 
man and  never  tired  of  discussing  questions  of  angling 
and  field  sports.  Of  course  General  DeKay,  who  cared 
for  nothing  so  much  as  such  companionship,  would  not 
let  him  return  until  after  dinner.  His  name  was  Lap- 
ham.  The  Laphams  were  a  fine  old  family — nearly  all 
the  Alabama  families  below  the  mountains  are  reported 
to  be  fine  and  old — and  he  retained  in  his  speech  and 
manner  much  that  was  ultra  old  and  Southern,  along 
with  certain  strong  traces  of  quite  modern  "  slang  and 
snap,"  as  it  is  called. 

He  sat  next  to  Mrs.  Ransom  at  table,  entertaining 
her  and  the  rest  with  an  account  of  some  recent  races 


222  AT  LOVE  'S  EXTREMES. 

at  New  Orleans,  or  Tuscaloosa,  or  somewhere,  that  he 
had  been  to  see.  There  had  been  a  row  among  some 
sports  ending  in  one  being  killed. 

"  It  was  a  mean  murder,"  he  remarked,  "  the  man  was 
given  no  show.  I  hope  the  law  will  be  swift,  as  in  the 
case  of  your  man,  Colonel  Reynolds." 

Reynolds  looked  at  him  with  quick  inquiry  and 
Mrs.  Ransom's  face  showed  the  shrinking  of  her  feel- 
ings. 

"Oh,  they  got  him  below  Selma  and  hanged  him," 
added  Lapham  in  answer  to  the  question  in  Reynolds' 
eyes.  "  They  made  short  work  of  it :  caught  him  and 
strung  him  up  to  the  first  tree." 

"  I  haven't  read  the  papers  for  several  days,"  said 
General  DeKay.  "  They  lynched  him,  did  they  ?  Hang- 
ing is  the  popular  thing  now." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Lapham.  "  He  deserved  it,  I  believe. 
It  was  a  bad  case.  Killed  a  young  fellow  who  had  just 
been  married.  Loved  the  girl  himself,  it  is  said,  and 
did  the  deed  out  of  sheer  revenge,  because  she  took 
the  young  man  in  preference  to  himself.  The  circum- 
stances were  atrocious.  The  young  wife  is  reported  to 
have  lost  her  reason  on  account  of  the  affair." 

There  came  a  depressing  silence  over  the  little  group 
at  the  table.  Mrs.  DeKay  made  haste  to  change  the 
topic  of  conversation  to  one  she  was  sure  would  interest 
the  gentlemen. 

"  Have  you  tried  the  trout  since  this  fine  weather  has 


DREAMS  AND  PLANS.  223 

come  ?  "  she  asked,  addressing  Lapham.  "  I  should  think 
the  angling  might  be  good  now." 

The  mention  of  trout  (bass  are  called  trout  in  the 
South)  set  the  young  man  in  the  midst  of  one  of  his 
favorite  elements.  He  began  at  once  to  tell  how  he 
had  killed  a  four-pounder  that  very  morning.  He  always 
killed  four-pounders.  "  It  was  the  gamiest  fish  I  ever 
hooked,  I  think, — a  regular  savage.  I  toiled  with  it  a  full 
half  hour  before  I  could  land  it.  At  one  time  it  had 
out  nearly  a  hundred  yards  of  line  and  I  thought  I 
never  should  get  it  checked  up.  If  it  had  gone  a  little 
further  my  rod  or  my  line — one  would  have  suffered. 
It  was  jolly  sport." 

"  I  must  rig  up  my  tackle  and  try  the  river  to-mor- 
row," said  the  General.  "  Are  you  strong  enough  to 
join  me,  Colonel  Reynolds?  Of  course  you  will  come 
down,  Mr.  Lapham  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry,"  answered  Reynolds,  "  but  I  fear  my 
shoulder  is  too  tender.  I  am  quite  anxious  to  get  well, 
and  to  that  end  must  heed  my  doctor's  advice." 

"  I  will  join  you,  General,"  said  Lapham  with  eager 
readiness.  "This  morning's  taste  has  made  me  raven- 
ous for  another  round  with  the  finny  beauties." 

"What  flies  are  best  here?"  inquired  Reynolds, 
thinking  of  something  else. 

"  Oh,  we  use  minnows,"  said  Lapham,  "  though  I 
have  had  success  with  a  bob  of  deer-tail  hairs  and  red 
feathers.  The  trout  won't  rise  to  a  regular  fly." 


224  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

"  Up  in  the  mountains  I  find  the  '  Doctor '  and  the 
brown  hackle  very  killing,"  said  Reynolds.  "  I  have  had 
rare  sport  in  the  smaller  streams.  The  bass  there  are 
quite  as  game  as  brook  trout." 

"  The  mountain  fish  are  like  the  mountain  crackers : 
game  but  not  over  wise,"  Lapham  quickly  responded, 
with  an  intonation  meant  as  a  guaranty  of  the  origi- 
nality of  his  humor. 

"  Neither  would  be  easily  handled  by  a  novice,  I  grant 
you,"  said  Reynolds  with  a  peculiar  smile. 

Lapham  laughed  merrily.  The  retort  pleased  him 
better  than  his  own  venture. 

"  I  was  up  in  the  mountains  last  winter  deer  hunting," 
he  said, "  and  there's  one  thing  I  can  testify  to  in  behalf 
of  those  crackers:  they  are  very  hospitable  and  oblig- 
ing ;  they  seem  to  think  they  can't  do  too  much  for 
one.  But  the  women  !  It  kept  me  in  a  state  of  chronic 
melancholy  to  see  the  poor  things." 

"  Their  life  is  a  lonely,  dreary,  hopeless  one,"  replied 
Reynolds,  "but  they  are  good,  and  as  true  as  steel." 

"  Yes,  no  doubt  they  are  good.  I  know  they  are 
kind,  and  all  that.  They  asked  me  to  smoke  with  them 
and  called  me  sonny ! " 

"  Did  you  go  when  they  called  you  ?  "  the  General 
asked,  with  the  ready  familiarity  of  old  acquaintance. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lapham,  "  I  recognize  the  fitness  of  the 
appellation." 

Reynolds  was  thinking  of  Milly  White.     She  was,  in 


DREAMS  AND  PLANS.  22$ 

his  mind,  unseparable  from  any  idea  of  the  mountains 
and  their  people.  He  felt  an  impulse  to  resent,  as  per- 
sonal to  her,  every  suggestion  made  at  the  expense  of 
the  mountaineers.  He  could  see  her  now,  standing  by 
the  little  gate  gazing  down  the  crooked,  stony  road, 
patiently  watching  for  his  return.  He  strove  to  brush 
aside  the  reflections  that  began  to  crowd  into  his  brain, 
and  with  the  help  of  Lapham's  skipping  levity  and  the 
unusual  volubility  of  General  DeKay's  talk,  he  at  last 
succeeded  in  hiding  his  uneasiness  and  lack  of  sympathy 
with  the  quiet  merriment  of  the  occasion. 

Mrs.  Ransom  appeared  to  be  lighter-hearted  than  at 
any  other  time  since  the  adventure  at  the  ruin.  Her 
face  was  touched  with  a  charming  color  and  she  fol- 
lowed Lapham's  shallow  chatter  with  smiling  atten- 
tion. It  was  from  her  that  Reynolds  finally  caught 
the  ability  to  forget  himself  and  to  fall  into  the  spirit 
that  ruled  the  rest  of  the  company.  Once  engaged, 
he  put  forth  his  powers  with  good  effect.  For  Lap- 
ham's  benefit  he  described  the  Derby  and  the  Grand 
Prix,  a  pigeon  shoot  in  England  where  the  stake  was 
a  thousand  pounds,  angling  in  Scotland  and  some 
hunting  adventures  in  Algiers.  From  sport  he  easily 
drifted  to  art  and  from  art  into  the  ever  wonderful  and 
fascinating  scenery  of  Switzerland  and  Italy.  It  was 
Agnes  who  led  him  on  to  speak  of  Paris  and  Rome, 
the  two  cities  of  every  young  woman's  dream.  She 
was  full  of  the  thought  of  going  with  him  to  the  old 


226  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

world.  It  was  intoxicating  her.  How  far  away  it 
would  be — that  life  beyond  the  sea — from  the  dreary, 
sorrowful  pool  of  her  narrow  and  bitter  experience  ! 
That  night  in  the  quiet  of  her  chamber  she  thought  it 
all  over,  and  she  was  dreaming  of  it  when  next  morn- 
ing the  mocking-birds  awoke  her.  Reynolds,  too, 
went  to  his  room  with  an  almost  light  heart.  From 
his  window  he  saw  Lapham,  with  a  little  sail  set,  go  up 
the  river  before  the  night  breeze,  in  the  light  of  a  cres- 
cent moon  that  hung  over  in  the  west. 

"  I  will  return  to  Birmingham  to-morrow,"  he  thought. 
He  was  in  haste  to  get  his  affairs  all  arranged  and  then 
come  back  and  persuade  Agnes  to  name  the  earliest 
day  possible  for  their  marriage.  He  felt  a  mighty 
impatience,  as  if  each  moment  endangered  the  cup  of 
happiness  now  bubbling  at  his  lips. 

But  the  thought  of  going  back  to  the  mountains 
chilled  him.  Why  need  he  go  at  all  ?  Why  should 
any  sordid  consideration  enter  into  the  discussion  of 
his  plans?  Had  he  not  already  shut  out  of  his  life 
the  dreamy  hermitage  and  all  that  pertained  to  it? 
He  tried  to  imagine  a  line  drawn  across  the  past  at  a 
point  on  this  side  of  all  his  unprofitable  experiences,  a 
line  over  which  he  would  teach  his  memory  not  to 
cross.  Could  he  not,  by  a  supreme  effort  of  will,  tear 
wholly  away  from  his  old  self,  as  from  a  chrysalis 
sheath,  purify  himself  and  spend  the  rest  of  his  days 
in  the  summer  atmosphere  of  a  calm  and  peaceful 


DREAMS  AND  PLANS.  227 

life?  How  it  tormented  him  to  perceive  his  lack  of 
genuine  courage  and  sincerity  in  this  exacting  crisis  ! 
He  tried  not  to  know  that  his  new  hopes  and  desires 
were  not  borne  up  by  an  underswell  of  true  repentance. 
The  selfishness  of  mere  regret  and  remorse  taunted 
him  insidiously,  whilst  the  happiness  that  beckoned 
him  on  was  tricked  in  sensuous  tinsel-tints,  the  expo- 
nents of  a  very  low  power  of  good.  He  struggled 
fiercely,  silently,  fighting  down  in  detail  the  troops  of 
phantoms  that  beset  him.  Finally  he  cheated  himself 
into  believing,  or  feigning  to  believe,  that  he  had 
gained  the  victory.  The  field  is  clear,  he  thought,  I 
am  a  man  once  more. 

Strangely  enough  his  mental  struggle  ended  in  con- 
firming instead  of  rejecting  the  thought  of  returning  to 
Birmingham  at  once  and  closing  out  his  interests  there. 
After  all,  why  should  he  hesitate?  What  possible 
objection  existed?  How  could  he  be  affected?  He 
brushed  it  all  aside  as  sheer  sentimentality  unworthy 
of  consideration.  He  could  not  assume  to  be  responsi- 
ble for  every  body  who  had  chanced  to  come  within 
the  radius  of  his  life.  What  is  a  man  here  for,  save  to 
forge  his  own  way  to  happiness  ? 

And  so  he  rushed  from  one  extreme  to  the  other, 
wholly  unable  to  see  the  fine  straight  line  of  right, 
wholly  unwilling  bravely  to  assume  the  responsibility 
of  lifting  the  burden  his  own  hands  had  packed  and 
bound.  Not  see  the  right!  Yes,  he  saw  it  at  last, 


2 28  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

clearly  enough  he  thought.  Reparation,  reparation. 
He  would  right  all  the  wrongs  he  had  done.  He  would 
do  good  all  the  rest  of  his  life.  Kindliness,  charity, 
blessings.  He  would  leave  a  trail  of  good  deeds 
behind  him  wherever  he  should  go.  The  poor  should 
remember  him  and  the  afflicted  should  feel  the  touch 
of  his  tenderness.  With  Agnes  beside  him,  with  her 
pure  soul  to  influence  and  encourage  him,  to  what  a 
height  of  unselfishness  he  might  rise.  He  smiled  and 
felt  reassured.  All  was  well. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

REALITIES. 

THERE  is  no  phase  of  life  so  steadfast  and  at  the 
same  time  so  tricksy  and  variable  as  what  is  called 
being  in  love :  the  current  is  all  one  way  and  yet  its 
force  appears  to  act  in  every  direction.  Love  sets 
for  itself  impossible  tasks  with  a  perfect  confidence, 
attempts  any  height,  and,  alas,  too  often  is  willing  to 
delve  in  the  mire  and  dregs  of  things  with  the  hope  of 
finding  one  glittering  grain  of  its  desire.  No  doubt 
supreme  passion  and  supreme  happiness  lie  far  apart. 
Form,  color,  sound,  perfume  and  whatever  appeals 
through  them,  may  constitute,  we  know  not  to  what 
extent,  the  values  of  passion.  Happiness  is  not  so 
clothed  that  its  substance  is  covered  or  its  footing 
invisible.  It  appeals  to  the  conscience  more  than  to 
the  senses.  One  may  say :  I  am  happy,  and  go 
delightedly  through  the  giddy  rounds  of  the  little 
whirlwinds  of  pleasurable  emotion,  but  he  is  all  the 
time  conscious  of  the  vacuum  and  lack  of  equilibrium 
that  have  caused  the  unusual  excitement.  He  is  vague- 
ly or  otherwise  mindful  of  the  fact  that  he  is  indulging 
a  delusion.  His  conscience  argues  that  steadfastness, 
poise,  evenness  and  certainty  are  the  foundation  stones 


230  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

of  happiness.  Too  often  these  foundation  stones 
seem  to  lie  far  away,  so  that,  like  the  old  poet,  one  cries 
out :  "  Oh,  had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove  ! "  Reynolds  and 
Agnes  had  fixed  their  eyes  on  this  distant  place  where, 
amid  new  scenes  and  strange  people,  the  temple  of 
their  love  might  become  the  dwelling-place  of  immeas- 
urable happiness.  And  why  should  they  not  realize 
this  dream?  They  were  young,  strong  and  loving. 
He  had  wealth  sufficient  for  a  life  of  reasonable  luxury, 
and  was  not  their  secret  their  own  ?  Over  and  over 
again  the  argument  was  made  and  the  pleasing  con- 
clusion reached. 

It  was  a  comfort  to  them  both  to  reiterate  their 
expressions  of  confidence  in  the  future ;  for  all  the 
time  there  lurked  a  doubt  somewhere  on  the  outer 
boundary  of  their  field  of  thought,  a  doubt  each  hoped 
the  other  did  not  know  of.  Not  that  either  questioned 
the  purity  or  perfectness  of  the  other's  love,  that  was 
impossible,  but  this  dark  secret  of  the  past  seemed  to 
link  them  together  on  an  insecure  footing  which  might 
give  way  at  any  time,  plunging  them  into  an  abyss  of 
irremediable  suffering.  It  mattered  not  how  far  away 
or  how  shadowy  this  doubt  was,  or  how  often  it  seemed 
to  be  utterly  driven  off,  the  lesion  it  caused  to  the 
tissue  of  their  love-dreams  was  incurable  and  there- 
fore dreadful,  notwithstanding  its  obscurity.  It  might 
be  forgotten  for  a  time,  even  for  a  long  time,  but  it 
could  not  be  put  away  wholly  and  forever. 


REALITIES.  231 

However,  love  takes  all  risks,  braves  all  dangers, 
attacks  every  obstacle.  There  was  no  longer  hesita- 
tion, even  if  the  doubt  would  linger.  They  were 
impatient  to  embark  upon  their  voyage  to  love's  land, 
as  they  imagined  it,  somewhere  beyond  the  sea.  They 
laughed,  they  sang,  they  exchanged  sweet,  airy  utter- 
ances of  passion,  as  did  the  birds  in  the  green  mazes  of 
the  tree-tops  above  them.  They  made  the  most  of 
the  moments. 

"  'Clar'  ter  goodness  !  "  muttered  Uncle  Mono,  whose 
eyes  were  not  so  old  that  he  failed  to  note  the  wooing. 
"  'Clar'  ter  goodness  !  Ef  de  young  boss  haint  a  rus'ler 
den  I  dunno  nuffin'.  W'y  he  done  kotch  de  pore 
leetle  missus,  same  lak  er  hawk  ketch  um  bird.  She 
not  hab  time  ter  squeak  'fore  she  gone !  Mebbe  it  turn 
out  de  bes'  kin',  I  dunno,  but  seem  lak  dar's  somefin' 
'sterious  sorter  bodderin*  my  min1  'bout  it.  Wha'  dat 
boss  come  f'om,  anyhow  ?  an'  wha'  he  gwine  ter  go  to, 
I'd  lak  ter  know  ?  But  he's  er  rus'ler,  sho's  you  bo'n, 
he  is ! " 

General  DeKay  and  his  wife  saw  how  matters  were 
drifting,  too,  and  they  discussed  the  probable  outcome 
with  many  doubts  and  misgivings.  They  were  not 
persons  fond  of  borrowing  trouble,  however,  and  they 
did  not  know  of  any  objection  to  Reynolds.  In  fact, 
the  General  had  grown  to  like  him  very  much.  More- 
ton  had  told  them  that  Reynolds  was  wealthy  and  of 
a  good  family,  and  had  let  fall  a  great  many  apparently 


232  A  T  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

accidental  references  to  his  friend's  good  qualities. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  foundation  upon  which  to  base 
an  objection,  no  plausible  reason  for  interference,  so 
the  love-passage  was  left  to  be  worked  out  to  its  end- 
ing, whatever  that  might  be. 

Reynolds  got  ready  to  go  to  Birmingham.  The  De- 
Kay  place  was  about  two  hours'  drive  from  Montgom- 
ery over  a  level  country  highway.  So  on  the  morning 
set  for  his  departure  a  carriage  stood  ready  at  the  gate 
in  front  of  the  lawn.  He  had  taken  formal  leave  of 
General  DeKay  early  in  the  morning  when  that  sport- 
loving  planter  was  on  the  point  of  joining  Lapham  in 
an  excursion  for  bass.  The  General  had  warmly  urged 
him  to  return  soon,  so  as  to  test  the  qualities  of  the 
fish  in  the  Alabama,  and  he  had  readily  accepted  the 
invitation.  Now  he  was  lingering  on  the  veranda  with 
Agnes,  who,  dressed  in  a  pale  blue  morning  gown  and 
flushed  with  the  sweet  emotions  that  filled  her  breast, 
was  looking  her  loveliest.  Her  blue  eyes  had  lost  for 
the  time  all  traces  of  the  quiet  sadness  they  had  so 
long  harbored,  and  were  beaming  with  a  tender,  happy 
light.  She  stood  up  erect  and  strong,  her  slender 
figure,  with  its  softly  rounded  outlines,  poised  with 
such  grace  as  always  suggests  a  reserve  of  abundant 
elasticity  and  youthful  alertness.  Whoever  had  studied 
her  face  at  that  time  would  have  declared  that  its 
expression  was  in  every  way  witchingly  girlish,  simply 
and  charmingly  beautiful,  full  of  truth  and  earnest  faith 


REALITIES.  233 

in  the  right ;  but  he  would  not  have  called  it  an  intel- 
lectual face,  or  one  indexing  a  strongly  developed 
character.  She  would  make  a  good  wife,  he  might 
have  said,  a  trusting,  gentle,  ever-loving,  ever-faithful 
companion,  the  comfort  of  a  strong  man,  the  sweet 
light  of  a  home  ;  but  she  could  never  be  any  thing 
more. 

"A  week,  love,  and  then — "  said  Reynolds,  pausing 
to  look  fondly  down  into  her  eyes. 

"  And  then  you  will  come  back  to  me,"  she  quickly 
replied,  "  I  know  you  will,  and  I  shall  wait  for  you 
and  think  of  you  every  minute  of  the  time." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  worry  about  me,  or  be  impatient. 
The  days  will  soon  slip  by.  Take  good  care  of  your- 
self and " 

"  You  are  the  one  who  needs  that  advice,"  she 
urged,  "  for  your  wound  is  not  entirely  well,  you  know. 
Do  be  very,  very  careful,  for,  for — you  are  very  dear  to 
somebody  now ! " 

He  would  have  kissed  her  then,  but  Uncle  Mono 
very  unopportunely  made  his  appearance  around  the 
corner  of  the  veranda.  Mono  was  old  and  wise.  He 
knew  that  the  departure  of  a  guest  from  the  house  was 
the  golden  moment  for  a  servant  possessing  his  liberal 
opportunities.  The  lifting  force  of  emancipation  from 
slavery  had  not  raised  his  pride  above  the  level  of 
those  tricks  which,  in  his  days  of  bondage,  had  served 
to  soothe  his  palm  with  pieces  of  silver,  and  even  of 


234  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

gold  sometimes,  tossed  from  the  lavish,  careless  hands 
of  visitors  whom  he  had  waited  upon.  He  came 
shambling  along  with  his  old  hat  in  his  hand,  bowing 
very  low  and  grinning  the  grin  of  the  trickster  who  is 
sure  that  his  trick  must  win.  As  he  came  near  he 
said: 

"  Berry  sorry  yo'  gwine  away,  boss,  berry  sorry. 
Hope  yo'  not  fo'get  ole  Mono  when  yo'  done  gone. 
'Cessful  journey  to  yo',  boss." 

"  Thank  you,  Uncle  Mono,  I  can  never  forget  you. 
Did  you  ever  play  base-ball,  Mono  ?  "  said  Reynolds. 

"  Nah,  sah,  do'n  know  nuffin'  'bout  dat,"  answered 
the  old  man,  shaking  his  head  and  executing  some 
ludicrous  grimaces.  "  I  nebber  plays  nuffin'  'cep'n' 
de  fiddle  an'  de  banjer,  an*  I'se  gettin'  so  ole  an' 
'flicted  dat  I  can't  play  dem  to  no  good.  Old  Mono 
mos'  run  he  ye'thly  co'se,  boss." 

"You're  not  springy  and  active,  then,  Mono.  You've 
lost  the  use  of  yourself  pretty  nearly,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Dat's  it,  boss,  dat's  it.  Ole  man  all  cripple  up 
wid  'fliction  an'  ole  age.  No  'count  any  mo'.  He 
done  los'  all  he  sperit." 

"  Well,  Mono,"  said  Reynolds  very  gravely,  taking 
some  pieces  of  money  from  his  pocket,  "  if  you'll  catch 
this  dollar  when  I  throw  it  to  you,  I'll  give  you 
another." 

Mono  prepared  to  use  his  hat. 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Reynolds,  laughing,  "I'll  not 


REALITIES.  235 

have  that !  Put  down  your  hat  and  use  your  hands. 
Now,  here  it  comes." 

No  cat,  leaping  out  of  the  summer  grass  to  catch  a 
low-flying  sparrow,  ever  displayed  more  nimbleness 
and  adroitness  than  did  old  Mono  in  catching  that 
dollar.  It  fell  upon  his  dusky  palm  with  a  clear  slap 
and  immediately  found  its  way  into  his  trowsers 
pocket. 

"Yah,  yah,  yah  !  let  de  oder  'n  come,  boss,  I's  ready 
for  'm !  "  shouted  the  old  fellow  in  great  delight. 

"  You're  an  intolerable  fraud,  Mono,"  said  Reynolds, 
tossing  him  another  dollar,  "  your  afflictions  are  of  the 
kind  the  good  people  sing  about,  that  '  are  oft  in 
mercy  sent ; '  a  few  more  of  the  same  sort  would 
make  a  famous  acrobat  of  you." 

"  Fanky,  boss,  fanky ;  tole  yo'  dat  yo'  wus  a  rus'ler, 
did'n'  I?  Goo'by,  boss,  'cessful  journey  to  yo',  sah." 

"Good-by,  Mono,  we'll  go  a  fishing  when  I  come 
back,"  Reynolds  called  after  him,  as  he  rapidly 
retreated. 

"  All  right,  boss,  I  go  wid  yo'.  1  show  yo'  wha*  dey 
is,  sho's  yo'  bo'n.  Goo'by !  " 

The  morning  breeze  was  singing  in  the  vines  that 
clothed  the  heavy  columns  of  the  tall  veranda,  and  its 
gentle  current  tossed  some  loose  tresses  across  Mrs. 
Ransom's  happy  face.  It  was  time  for  Reynolds  to 
be  on  his  road,  but  he  faltered  whenever  he  undertook 
to  say  the  word  of  parting.  Yet  a  minute  or  two,  he 


236  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

would  think :  I  will  make  up  for  the  lost  time  when  I  get 
started.  She  had  never  appeared  so  beautiful  as  now, 
never  so  happy,  never  so  loving. 

"  Walk  down  to  the  gate  with  me,"  he  presently 
said  :  "  it  will  give  me  a  happy  send-off  on  my  journey, 
to  look  back  and  see  you  standing  there  watching  me  as  I 
am  going  out  of  sight  among  the  shadows  of  the  wood." 

They  spent  a  long  time  passing  over  the  space 
between  the  veranda  and  the  gate.  Here  they  paused 
to  dally  beside  a  bed  of  hyacinth  or  there  to  note  how 
wonderfully  large  the  violets  were.  A  touch  of  childish- 
ness, or  thoughtlessness  (or  was  it  that  artlessness 
which  comes  of  complete  self-forgetfulness?)  made 
their  actions  amusingly  interesting  to  Mrs.  DeKay, 
who  watched  them  from  the  window. 

The  colored  driver  was  perched  upon  his  high  seat 
in  front  of  the  DeKay  landau  and  the  team  of  chestnut 
mares  was  ready  for  the  road.  There  was  plenty  of 
time  left  in  which  to  reach  Montgomery  so  as  to  take 
the  north  bound  train. 

"Agnes,"  Reynolds  murmured, "  you  must  be  ready 
to  set  an  early  day  for  our  marriage  by  the  time  of  my 
return.  We  shall  want  to  sail  as  early  in  June  as  pos- 
sible. I  have  not  yet  spoken  to  your  uncle  and  aunt, 
but  I  shall  as  soon  as  I  return." 

She  was  silent,  but  it  was  a  silence  just  as  satisfactory 
to  her  lover  as  any  words  could  have  been. 

The  barbaric  imagination,  always  a  part  of  the  negro, 


REALITIES.  237 

must  have  been  aroused  in  the  driver  as  he  lounged  in 
his  seat  and  gazed  at  the  beautiful  woman  and  the  tall, 
strong  man  straying  down  the  walk.  Their  figures 
were  boldly  relieved  against  the  dull  gray  background 
of  the  old  house,  and  framed  in  with  vines  and  mag- 
nolia boughs.  He  had  a  vivid  though  savagely  crude 
sense  of  the  warmth  and  tenderness  and  fresh- 
ness of  the  picture.  His  indolent,  half-closed  eyes 
and  shining,  jet  black  face  were  expressive  of  that 
dreamy  phase  of  delight  which  is  generated  by 
mere  passive  receptivity.  The  delicate  blue  of  Mrs. 
Ransom's  dress,  the  charming  bloom  of  her  face  and 
the  supple  grace  and  strength  of  her  slender  figure 
were  to  him  as  a  star  is  to  a  poet,  a  mystery,  a  focus 
of  unapproachable  glory,  never  to-  be  any  nearer  or 
any  further  away.  He  felt,  without  knowing  it,  all  the 
aesthetic  values  of  the  scene  before  him  ;  the  cloudless, 
tender  sky,  the  rich  green  of  the  magnolias,  the  wind- 
beaten  and  rain-stained  old  mansion  all  wrapped  in 
semi-tropical  vines,  the  flare  of  the  sunlight  and  the 
soft  glooms  of  the  shade,  and,  beyond  the  house  and 
the  trees,  the  sheeny  reeds  and  the  broad,  winding 
river,  all  these  with  the  fresh  perfumes  and  delicious 
spring  wind,  touched  him  and 

"  Passed  like  a  glorious  roll  of  drums 

Through  the  triumph  of  his  dream.," 

He  saw,  he  felt,  he  enjoyed — what  more  could  his  lazy, 
basking  nature  crave? 


238  AT  LOVE  'S  EXTREMES. 

The  parting  was  commonplace  enough,  a  mere  clasp- 
ing of  hands,  strong,  hopeful  smiles  and  good-by.  It 
could  not  be  less,  it  might  outwardly  have  been  more, 
if  the  driver  had  not  been  there. 

"You  will  come  soon." 

"  Very  soon — in  a  few  days." 

The  carriage,  a  sort  of  open  landau,  began  to  move, 
and  Reynolds  sitting  in  the  rear  turned  and  furtively 
flung  back  a  kiss. 

She  was  already  beginning  to  grow  pale,  but  she 
touched  her  lips  with  her  fingers  and  waved  him  adieu 
with  a  bright  smile. 

He  kept  his  eyes  upon  her,  as  the  distance  gradually 
grew,  and,  so  absorbed  was  he,  it  startled  him  when 
the  vehicle  suddenly  came  to  a  stand-still. 

"  Wha'  do  Gin'l  DeKay  lib  ?  "  called  out  the  driver 
of  a  carriage  whose  way  lay  opposite  to  theirs. 

"  Jis  back  ya'  leetle  ways,"  answered  Reynolds' 
driver. 

"All  right,  I  fought  so;  much  'bleeged." 

Both  carriages  moved  again.  In  passing  Reynolds 
saw  a  slender,  picturesque  looking  man,  whose  yellow- 
ish hair  fell  in  profuse  curls  about  his  neck  and  shoul- 
ders. He  wore  a  broad-brimmed,  light  colored  hat 
and  a  close-fitting  semi-military  suit  of  gray. 

It  was  a  most  irritating  thing  that  this  man  and  his 
vehicle  should  whisk  into  the  line  of  Reynolds'  vision 
and  entirely  hide  Agnes  from  him.  He  craned  his 


REALITIES.  239 

neck  and  tried  to  look  over  or  past  that  wide  slouch 
hat  and  those  slender,  curl-covered  shoulders,  but  it 
was  impossible. 

"  Damn  the  fellow ! "  he  muttered.  "  Stop  a 
moment,  Dan,"  he  called  to  the  driver. 

The  mares  were  drawn  up  and  the  carriage  came  to 
a  stand-still  in  a  moment.  Reynolds  waited  impa- 
tiently, hoping  that  some  slight  swerve  in  the  road 
would  give  him  one  more  glimpse  of  the  blue  dress 
and  shining  face.  He  felt  that  he  could  not  thus 
abruptly  and  unauspiciously  lose  sight  of  her.  But 
the  road  was  straight  and  the  vehicle  kept  well  in  the 
middle  of  it  until  it  neared  the  gate  of  DeKay  Place, 
where  it  turned  and  stopped. 

Mrs.  Ransom  was  there,  with  her  face  toward  him. 
He  snatched  out  his  handkerchief  and  waved  it  rapidly 
to  and  fro,  but  before  he  could  get  any  response  from 
her,  the  young  man  had  got  out  of  his  carriage  and 
placed  himself  in  front  of  her,  so  that  she  was  com- 
pletely eclipsed. 

Reynolds  uttered  some  phrase  expressive  of  bitter 
disappointment.  His  driver  turned  a  surreptitious  look 
of  wonder  and  inquiry  upon  him,  but  dared  not  speak 
when  he  saw  that  Reynolds  was  looking  at  what  was 
going  on  at  the  gate.  Naturally  enough  the  negro 
shrewdly  suspected  that  here  was  a  little  play  of  rivalry 
between  two  gentlemen,  and  that  he  had  better  not 
interfere. 


240  AT  LOVE'S  EX TREMES. 

As  Reynolds  leaned  over  the  back  of  the  seat  and 
looked,  there  was  a  sudden  movement  made  by  the 
stranger  that  for  a  moment  left  Agnes  in  plain  view, 
and  he  saw  her  throw  up  both  hands  and  heard  her 
cry  out.  Then  the  man  clasped  her  and  held  her  in 
his  arms.  Something  in  this  scene  startled  Reynolds 
strangely,  he  hardly  knew  why,  and  he  hurriedly  com- 
manded the  driver  to  drive  back  to  the  gate. 

"Quick,  Dan,  make  the  horses  go;  hurry,  I  say!" 
he  added  in  a  voice  rough  with  excitement.  There 
was  a  cold  feeling  in  his  breast,  as  if  a  damp,  chilling 
breath  had  blown  through  it,  and  a  heavy  weight 
seemed  pressing  on  his  brain. 

In  less  than  a  minute  the  gate  was  reached  and  Rey- 
nolds had  leaped  to  the  ground.  The  man  had  let 
Mrs.  Ransom  go,  and  the  two  were  standing  facing 
each  other.  Both  looked  excited.  She  was  very  pale, 
but  showed  no  sign  of  weakness,  holding  herself  erect 
and  steady.  She  turned  her  eyes  upon  Reynolds,  as 
he  came  near,  and  made  a  movement  with  her  lips,  as 
if  speaking,  without  emitting  any  sound.  The  man, 
who  appeared  to  be  an  invalid,  trembled  a  little  and 
did  not  take  his  eyes  off  her  face,  even  for  an  instant, 
but  gazed  at  her  with  such  yearning  in  his  expression 
as  would  have  touched  the  coldest  observer.  He  had 
taken  off  his  sombrero,  holding  it  in  his  hand,  and  the 
light  wind  was  tossing  his  long  ringlets  about  his  neck 
and  cheeks.  There  was  that  peculiar  droop  to  one  of 


REALITIES.  241 

his  shoulders,  together  with  a  hollowness  of  his  chest 
on  that  side,  which  indicated  that  at  some  time  in  his 
life  he  had  been  desperately  wounded. 

"Agnes,  Agnes,  what  is  the  matter?"  Reynolds 
exclaimed  in  that  startled,  rasping  voice  which  is  com- 
mon to  all  men  when  confronted  by  an  overwhelming 
trouble.  He  asked  this  question  involuntarily,  aim- 
lessly, for  he  welt  understood  what  all  this  quiet,  terri- 
ble scene  was  about.  He  knew  this  man  now.  It  was 
hard  to  comprehend  how  such  a  thing  could  be  ;  but 
this  was  Ransom  standing  here,  Ransom  alive  and  con- 
fronting his  wife.  Agnes  made  two  or  three  fruitless 
efforts  before  she  was  able  to  exclaim  : 

"Oh,  John — Mr.  Reynolds,  go  away!  Go  away! 
This  is — this  is  my  husband  !  "  She  did  not  say  this 
demonstratively  or  noisily — her  voice  was  low  and  quite 
calm,  save  that  she  seemed  to  falter  a  little.  "  Oh,  I 
have  always  thought  you  were  not  dead  and  that  you 
would  come  back  ! "  she  added,  turning  toward  the 
man  with  something  like  a  shudder  in  her  tones. 

"  Ransom,  is  this  indeed  you  ?  "  demanded  Reynolds, 
gathering  enough  force  to  crush  down  his  bewilder- 
ment. 

The  man  turned  his  eyes  upon  his  interrogator  for  a 
second.  His  stare  had  in  it  a  mingling  of  surprise 
and  insolent  bravado.  Then  with  a  slight  start  he 
ejaculated : 

"  Reynolds !  " 


242  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

Mrs.  Ransom  clasped  her  hands  and  looked  helplessly 
and  beseechingly  from  one  to  the  other.  Her  lips 
quivered  pitifully. 

The  two  men  stared  at  each  other  as  if  unwilling  to 
accept  the  situation  and  yet  unable  to  escape  it. 
Each  seemed  waiting  for  the  other  to  explain  why  he 
was  there.  It  did  not  once  occur  to  Reynolds  that  this 
man  had  the  legal  right  to  Agnes,  and  that  henceforth 
she  must  be  as  lost  as  if  dead.  He  went  no  further 
than  to  recognize  that  here  was  a  mystery  and  a 
trouble.  The  catastrophe  had  been  so  peculiar  and 
sudden,  so  lacking  in  those  melodramatic  features  com- 
mon to  such  scenes,  that  it  had  a  dulling,  numbing 
effect  upon  his  faculties.  Ransom  was  not  so  bewil- 
dered. It  surprised  him  to  see  Reynolds  and  it  dis- 
pleased him  as  well,  but  he  had  prepared  himself, 
before  coming,  for  any  kind  of  a  scene  with  his  wife  ; 
therefore,  although  excited,  he  was  quite  deliberate 
after  the  first  little  start  of  recognition  had  spent  its 
force. 

"  I  was  not  expecting  to  see^//,"  he  said  with  pecu- 
liar emphasis.  "Nor  you  me,  I  suppose." 

The  man's  whole  manner  was  sinister  and  crafty, 
and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  there  was  something  sub- 
dued, something  suggestive  of  long  suffering  and 
unmerited  injury,  in  the  expression  of  his  face  and  the 
attitude  of  his  person.  He  appeared  to  Reynolds' 
startled  and  distorted  vision  an  incarnate  accusation. 


REALITIES.  243 

The  situation  might  have  had  a  touch  of  the  super- 
natural in  it,  if  its  realism  had  not  been  so  peculiarly 
pronounced  and  unmistakable.  The  whole  affair  was 
a  cold,  dull,  immitigable  affair.  It  did  not  even  rise  to 
the  level  of  romance.  It  had  come  as  death  comes,  a 
stark,  overpowering,  repulsive  result  of  perfectly  inex- 
plicable causes,  bearing  down  before  it  every  thought 
of  resistance  or  escape. 

Reynolds  had  ready  no  response.  The  predicament 
was  one  which  seemed  to  him  malign  in  its  whole  bear, 
ing,  with  no  room  for  words  of  inquiry  or  of  explana- 
tion. A  sense  of  suffocation  assailed  him,  as  if  all  those 
dreams  and  hopes  and  delightful  anticipations  that  he 
had  been  so  luxuriating  in  lately,  had  fallen  dead  in  a 
wilted  heap  upon  his  heart. 

Ransom  was  a  strangely  handsome  man,  with  a  dash 
of  devil-may-care  blended  with  melancholy  in  his  face. 
His  features  were  clearly  and  finely  cut,  delicate  but 
not  effeminate,  showing  strong  traces  of  suffering,  with 
something  of  that  cool  nervousness  (if  one  may  so 
express  it)  in  their  play,  so  often  noticed  in  the  faces 
of  gamblers  and  outlaws.  He  was  rather  above  the 
medium  stature,  well-knit  and  graceful,  erect  (saving 
that  slight  peculiar  droop  of  one  shoulder),  alert  and 
well-poised.  He  turned  from  Reynolds  to  Agnes  and 
with  the  utmost  tenderness  said : 

"  Come,  little  wife,  I've  a  long  story  to  tell  you — a 
strange  story.  I  have  not  been  so  bad  as  you  think.  I 


244  AT  LOVE'S  EX TKEMES. 

have  been  just  the  same  as  dead,  four  years  in  a  Mexi- 
can prison." 

It  was  not  what  he  said  but  the  way  in  which  he  said 
it,  that  made  his  appeal  so  very  affecting.  Reynolds 
felt  a  vague  thrill  of  pity.  At  the  same  time  there 
came  upon  him  the  first  shock  of  genuine  realization 
of  the  situation.  The  phrase  "  little  wife,"  as  used  by 
Ransom,  enforced  its  deep  significance  at  once.  It 
struck  with  a  directness  that  gave  no  chance  for 
evasion. 

"  Oh,  Herbert,  Herbert ! "  cried  Agnes,  suddenly 
making  a  step  forward  and  casting  her  arms  around 
Ransom's  neck.  "  Oh,  is  it  really,  really  you  ! " 

The  lithe  little  figure  in  its  rustling  blue  gown  shrank 
close  to  him  and  quivered  in  his  embrace.  He  bent  his 
head  and  kissed  her  again  and  again,  his  long  bright 
curls  falling  across  her  upturned  face. 

Reynolds  recoiled  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow,  then, 
steadying  himself,  he  looked  upon  them  as  one  might 
look  into  one's  own  grave.  Ransom's  voice,  murmuring 
all  manner  of  caressing  phrases,  was  infinitely  musical 
and  sweet,  but  there  was  that  in  it  which  betrayed  a 
weakness  not  wholly  physical,  a  suggestion  of  irresponsi- 
bility and  insincerity. 

It  may  have  been  the  effect  of  long  imprisonment, 
the  nature  of  his  wound  and  protracted  mental  worry, 
or  it  may  have  been  altogether  owing  to  the  inter- 
pretation he  had  instantly  given  to  the  relationship 


REALITIES.  245 

between  Agnes  and  Reynolds ;  but  from  whatever 
cause,  his  face  was  luminous  with  a  pale  glow  express- 
ive of  the  most  pathetic  misery  blended  with  exult- 
ation. 

Reynolds  stood  like  a  bronze  statue,  his  eyes  burn- 
ing with  a  dull  fire  and  his  face  seamed  and  shriveled. 

Ransom  clung  to  his  wife,  stroking  her  hair  and 
kissing  her  cheek.  His  ecstasy  was  genuine,  but  it 
lacked  the  force  of  lofty  passion. 

Presently  Agnes  freed  herself  from  his  embrace,  quite 
as  suddenly  as  she  had  sought  it,  as  if  some  revulsion 
of  feeling  or  some  strong  conviction  of  the  impropriety 
of  such  extreme  action  had  mastered  her.  She  looked 
at  Reynolds,  and  meeting  his  gloomy,  despairing  gaze, 
let  fall  her  eyes,  a  quick  blush  covering  her  cheeks.  In 
that  moment  all  the  force  of  her  surroundings  rushed 
furiously  upon  her.  The  blush  gave  place  to  a  deadly 
paleness  that  appeared  to  affect  her  face  as  a  white 
heat.  She  put  up  one  hand  quickly,  as  if  to  touch 
her  forehead,  but  lowered  it  again,  staggered  and 
fell.  Both  men  sprang  to  her  assistance.  Reynolds 
brushed  the  other  aside,  as  he  might  have  brushed 
aside  some  insect.  Then  lifting  Agnes  in  his  arms 
he  bore  her  to  the  house.  He  did  this  in  a  mood 
that  eliminated  from  his  thought,  for  the  time,  all 
else  save  the  woman  he  loved.  He  carried  her  with- 
out at  all  feeling  her  weight,  and  his  movement 
was  so  swift  that  Ransom  did  not  try  to  keep  pace 


246  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

with  him ;  but  followed  him  with  slow,  feeble  steps  into 
the  hall  and  thence  into  the  parlor.  But  it  had  not 
been  a  swoon,  only  a  mere  vanishing  from  her  of 
strength  sufficient  to  stand.  She  raised  herself  to  a 
sitting  posture,  so  soon  as  Reynolds  put  her  on  a  sofa, 
and  looked  at  him  with  an  immediate  understanding  of 
what  had  happened.  Ransom  had  not  yet  come  in. 

"  Where  is  he — Herbert,  my  husband — where  is  he?  " 
she  asked. 

"Oh,  Agnes!  Agnes  .'"cried  Reynolds,  taking  her 
again  in  his  arms.  "  It  can  not  be  so !  you  can  not, 
you  will  not,  you  shall  not  give  me  up  for  him !  " 

She  sprang  away  from  him  and  stood  up  pale  and 
firm  before  him. 

"Do  not  touch  me  again,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  way 
that  sent  the  blood  in  upon  his  heart.  "You  have  no 
right.  He  is  my  husband.  You  said  he  was  dead. 
You  said — you — you  deceived  me — told  me  a  falsehood 
-you—" 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Agnes,  hold — don't  say  that !  I 
told  you  true.  I  thought  he  was  dead — I  thought  I 
killed  him — I  did  not  dream  of  his  being  alive  !  " 

Ransom  was  standing  by  now  glancing  keenly  from 
one  to  the  other.  When  he  spoke  it  was  directly  to 
Reynolds. 

"  If  my  wife  wishes  to 'talk  longer  with  you,  well  and 
good,  sir,  but  if  not,  you  must  see  the  propriety  of 
leaving  her  to  me."  His  manner  was  suave,  but  there 


REALITIES.  247 

was  a  mighty  meaning  in  his  voice  and  a  steely  glitter 
in  his  eyes. 

"  Leave  her  to  you  !  "  said  Reynolds  in  a  white  heat 
of  fury,  "  never !  " 

"You  must  leave  me,  and  at  once"  said  Agnes 
firmly. 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  as  if  trying  to  read  the 
lowest  lines  of  their  meaning,  but  he  found  nothing 
to  aid  him.  The  love-light  had  faded  and  in  its  stead 
the  cold  beam  of  loveless  duty  shone  out  clear  and 
strong.  He  saw  that  she  was  as  hopelessly  gone  from 
him  as  if  she  lay  dead  in  her  grave.  He  stretched  out 
his  arms  toward  her,  but  quickly  withdrew  them,  not, 
however,  on  account  of  a  swift,  facile  movement  of 
Ransom's  hand  to  the  place  where  a  pistol  is  usually 
concealed  by  a  man  who  carries  one,  for  he  did  not 
see  it,  but  because  her  eyes  repelled  him.  There  was 
nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  go  away  forever.  He 
rushed  from  the  room  and  from  the  house.  Half  way 
to  the  gate  he  stopped  and  turned  about,  fixing  upon 
the  weather-stained  old  building  a  gaze  that  it  would 
have  been  awful  to  contemplate,  so  intense,  so  wild, 
so  malignant.  His  hands  were  clenched,  his  lips,  so 
compressed  that  they  seemed  welded,  were  cold  and 
purple.  For  a  mere  point  of  time  he  was  a  murderer; 
but,  despite  the  intervening  wall  of  the  house,  he  could 
see  Agnes  clinging  to  her  husband  and  the  mood  was 
flung  aside.  Her  husband !  What  right  had  he  to 


248  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

survive  that  well-aimed  shot  ?  What  right  had  he  to 
escape  from  a  Mexican  prison  and  drag  his  wrecked 
body  and  withered  soul  back  here  to  crush  out  such  a 
love  as  that  which  but  an  hour  ago  had  lighted  up  the 
whole  world  ? 

It  was  but  a  flash  of  desperate  passion,  that  came 
and  went  in  an  instant,  leaving  Reynolds  all  the  more 
helplessly  bewildered.  What  could  he  do?  He  stood 
there  rigid,  breathless,  choking  in  the  impotence  of 
utter  irresolution. 

Again  he  turned  towards  the  carriage.  Far  and  near 
in  the  tender  foliage  of  the  trees  the  mocking  birds 
sang  with  lusty  fervor.  The  sweet  South  breathed  upon 
him  the  warm,  odorous  breath  of  love's  own  clime. 

Dan  the  driver,  from  his  seat  on  the  carriage,  had 
watched  this  melodramatic  scene  from  first  to  last,  so 
far  at  least  as  it  was  not  shut  out  from  his  vision,  with 
all  the  open-mouthed  wonder  characteristic  of  a  negro 
under  such  circumstances.  He  well  knew  that  the 
predicament  was  one  of  no  ordinary  sort,  and  that 
weighty  interests  were  involved.  He  had  expected 
every  moment  to  see  knives  or  pistols  gleam  and  flash, 
but  he  had  been  so  dazed  and  scared  that  he  could  not 
have  moved  to  save  his  life.  He  sat  there  gripping 
the  lines  and  leaning  forward  in  an  attitude  of  painful 
rigidity,  his  shoulders  elevated  and  his  chin  thrust  out, 
lost  to  every  thing  but  the  excitement  that  had  taken 
possession  of  him. 


REALITIES.  249 

Uncle  Mono,  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  drama,  was 
down  in  the  little  plat  of  ground  devoted  to  his  melon 
vines,  stirring  the  sandy  loam  with  a  hoe  and  singing 
a  lively  camp-meeting  song.  The  two  silver  dollars 
given  to  him  by  Reynolds  had  made  him  very  happy 
indeed. 

Reynolds  took  no  note  of  any  thing  around  him. 
The  sunshine,  the  bird-songs,  the  voice  of  the  merry 
old  freedman  and  the  dying  rustle  of  the  now  almost 
motionless  air  did  not  reach  his  senses.  Again  and 
again  he  stopped  as  if  to  rush  back,  his  arms  twitch- 
ing, his  face  rigid,  but  all  the  time  he  was  half  aware 
that  fate  was  binding  him  more  firmly  each  moment. 
Already  the  sweet  life  of  the  past  month  had  receded 
into  the  far,  hazy  distance,  as  if  its  sphere  had  whirled 
away  to  the  remotest  region  of  space,  almost  beyond 
the  reach  of  his  vision,  and  with  it  all  the  best  of  his 
nature,  leaving  him  groveling  and  baffled,  a  clod  on  a" 
barren  field. 

"  Drive  me  to  Montgomery  as  fast  as  you  can  go, 
Dan,"  he  said  to  the  driver  as  he  reached  the  gate  and 
entered  the  landau. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

WHITHER  ? 

*  J~\RIVE  fast,  Dan,  I  am  in  a  great  hurry," 
\_j  said  Reynolds,  as  the  mares  again  moved 
gently  along  the  road  in  the  direction  of  Mont- 
gomery. 

The  negro  waved  his  whip  above  the  backs  of  the 
spirited  animals,  starting  them  into  a  rapid  trot.  The 
wheels  made  little  noise  on  the  light  sandy  surface  over 
which  they  whirled.  Reynolds  sat  bolt  upright,  look- 
ing neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  his  vision  intro- 
verted. He  was  calm  as  marble,  so  far  as  outward 
appearance  went,  and  inwardly  there  was  no  commo- 
tion, but  a  cold,  dull,  smothering  sense  of  defeat  and 
despair. 

The  woods  on  either  side  of  the  road  were  dull  and 
soundless,  save  that,  where  the  tall  clumps  of  pines 
shot  above  the  rest  of  the  trees,  their  tops  let  fall  a 
mellow  roar  which  the  slightest  breeze  has  power  to 
awaken  in  their  frondous  meshes. 

The  negro  presently  began  to  sing,  in  a  strangely 
melodious  undertone,  an  old,  old  Alabama  ditty : 


WHITHER  ?  25 1 

"  Oh,  poor  Lucy  Neal, 
Oh,  poor  Lucy  Neal, 
And  if  I  had  you  by  my  side, 
How  happy  I  would  feel ! " 

Reynolds  started,  clenched  his  hands  and  began  to 
breathe  hard. 

"  Dan,"  he  cried,  "  drive  back,  drive  back,  I  can't 
bear  it !  " 

Dan  pulled  up  the  mares  and  turned  round  in  his 
seat: 

"What  yo'  say,  boss?"  he  inquired,  touching  his 
hat  and  but  half  repressing  his  surprise. 

"Turn  round  and  drive  back.  Be  quick,  make  them 
go  :  do  you  hear?" 

"  Yah,  sah,"  answered  Dan.  A  flush  had  sprung  into 
Reynolds'  cheeks  in  response  to  his  sudden  resolve. 
How  could  he  ever  have  thought  of  abandoning  her  in 
this  cowardly  way  ?  She  is  mine,  he  thought,  she  loves 
me,  he  has  no  right  to  her  now:  I  will  go  back  and  claim 
my  own  with  a  force  that  shall  be  irresistible. 

"  Drive  faster,  Dan,  do  you  hear,  drive  faster  ! " 

"Yah,  sah,  boss." 

The  mares  put  themselves  forth  to  their  utmost,  gladly 
reaching  back  toward  home.  For  a  minute  or  two 
Reynolds  was  wholly  in  the  power  of  this  new  mood. 
But  it  passed  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come,  and 
again,  with  redoubled  weight,  the  load  of  despair 
returned. 


252  AT  LOVE'S  EX  THEMES. 

"  Hold  up,  Dan,  hold  up !  " 

"  Yah,  sah."  Dan  once  more  brought  the  equipage  to 
a  standstill. 

Flickering  expressions  of  hesitancy,  faltering  and 
giving  up  of  hope,  played  for  a  brief  space  of  time  on 
Reynolds'  face,  before  he  could  say : 

"  Turn  again  :  drive  to  Montgomery." 

"  By  jiffs !  "  muttered  Dan,  sotto  voce,  "  is  de  boss  done 
gone  'stracted  ?  " 

He  obeyed  the  order,  however,  not  caring  to  risk  the 
consequences  of  any  open  symptoms  of  disapproval. 
He  was  well  aware  that  a  storm  was-  pent  up  in 
Reynolds'  bosom,  and  he  dreaded  lest  the  slightest  slip 
should  turn  its  blasts  and  buffets  loose  upon  him. 

"  Faster,  can't  you,  Dan  ?  "  urged  the  heavy  rasping 
voice  behind  him,  and  the  half-frightened  negro 
touched  the  spirited  team  with  the  whip.  Away  they 
flew,  at  what  horsemen  call  a  three-minute  pace,  flash- 
ing through  the  spaces  of  sunshine  and  sweeping  over 
the  long  stretches  of  shade,  until  the  open  country  was 
again  reached,  where,  between  straggling  worm  fences, 
the  road  cut  across  vast  fertile  plantations. 

At  length  in  the  distance,  crowning  a  swell  of  billowy, 
irregular  land,  Montgomery  appeared,  with  its  clay-red 
streets  slanting  up  between  long  lines  of  gnarled  trees 
and  its  house-roofs  and  church-spires  struggling  through 
the  greenery  of  vines  and  orchards,  and  the  gloom  of 
old  dusky  groves.  On  the  highest  point  the  grayish 


WHITHER?  253 

white,  rectangular  capitol,  with  its  heavy  columns  and 
diminutive  windows,  gleamed  bare  and  almost  barn-like, 
in  contrast  with  the  embowered  and  picturesque  resi- 
dences surrounding  it. 

Just  before  they  entered  a  street  of  the  city,  they 
met  Beresford  and  another  gentleman  going  toward 
the  country  in  an  open  road  wagon.  They  had  their 
guns  and  dogs.  Beresford  bowed  and  lifted  his  hat. 
Reynolds  returned  the  salute,  rather  from  force  of 
habit  than  from  any  real  notice  given  to  the  courtesy, 
but  the  incident  took  his  thoughts  back  past  the  drear 
defeat  of  to-day,  to  the  sweet  victory  of  that  short 
period  now  glimmering  as  if  on  the  uttermost  horizon 
of  memory. 

"  Drive  directly  to  the  railroad  depot,  Dan,"  he  said, 
and  all  the  way  through  the  city  he  sat  calmly  erect, 
like  some  thoughtful  professional  man  going  to  his 
office. 

It  was  some  time  past  noon  when  they  reached  the 
station  and  there  was  no  train  until  after  nightfall. 

Reynolds  gave  Dan  a  liberal  reward  in  money. 

"  Good-by,  Dan,"  he  said,  "  don't  drive  the  mares  so 
fast  going  back  :  they  appear  tired." 

"  Pow'ful  hard  on  'em,  boss,  a  rushin'  'em  dis  way  an' 
dat  way  an'  a  makin'  'em  go  der  bes'  licks  all  de  way, 
up  hill  an' down.  By  jiffs,  but  I's  erfeared  dey'd  drap 
afo'  dey  got  yer,  boss  !  " 

Reynolds  turned  away  and  began  walking  back  and 


254  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

forth  on  the  station  platform.  A  beautiful  reach  of 
the  Alabama  river  lay  in  full  view,  under  high  bluffs  of 
chocolate-colored  clay,  and  the  breeze  came  over  the 
water  sweet  and  cool. 

Dan  mounted  to  his  seat  and  prepared  to  drive  up 
into  the  city,  where  he  intended  to  get  something  to 
eat  for  himself  and  horses. 

"  Hold  a  moment,"  called  Reynolds,  taking  a  pencil 
and  a  small  memorandum-book  from  his  pocket,  "  wait 
till  I  write  a  few  words."  He  began  rapidly  writing, 
then  stopped  and  tore  up  the  leaf,  looked  aimlessly 
about  for  a  time  and  turned  abruptly  off,  saying  in  a 
strangely  dry  voice  : 

"Nevermind:   good-by,  Dan." 

The  carriage  rolled  away,  the  sound  of  its  wheels  on 
the  street  coming  back  to  his  ears  in  gradually  dimin- 
ishing clacks,  reminding  him  that  the  last  fragile  link 
that  had  connected  him  with  the  old  plantation  was 
broken.  He  walked  across  the  railroad  tracks  and  sat 
down  on  a  breezy  point  of  the  bluff  overhanging  the 
river.  There  was  something  in  the  river,  there  was 
something  in  the  wind,  the  water,  the  sky  and  the  wide 
horizon  that  cooled  the  fever  in  his  blood  for  the  time 
and  set  his  brain  to  work  with  less  confusion.  His  long 
years  of  hermit  life  had  developed  in  him  the  habit  of 
self-communion  to  such  an  extent  that  it  required  soli- 
tude to  reduce  his  distracted  faculties  to  something  near 
their  normal  relations.  We  who  view  from  the  mere 


WHITHER  ?  255 

artist's  standpoint  the  operations  of  those  influences 
that  control  the  destinies  of  men,  sometimes  see  a 
hideous  stroke  of  humor  in  the  doings  of  fate.  Tragedy 
and  comedy  lie  so  close  to  each  other,  that  a  mere 
change  of  intonation  in  the  reading  of  a  line  may  deter- 
mine the  difference  between  them.  So,  in  reality,  what 
under  one  light  is  incomparably  tragic  may,  under 
another,  appear  trivial  and  almost  comic.  Beresford's 
failure  with  Agnes  Ransom,  though  just  as  final  and 
conclusive,  seems  a  small  thing  beside  the  overwhelm- 
ing disaster  that  fell  upon  Reynolds  in  the  same  field, 
and  yet  one  might  say :  failure  can  go  no  further  than 
failure  :  Beresford  lost  all,— how  could  Reynolds  lose 
more  ?  Is  it  really  a  more  hopeless  and  tragic  thing 
to  love  and  be  loved  and  lose  than  to  love  and  not  be 
loved  and  lose  ?  Was  it  the  difference  between  the 
men,  or  the  circumstances,  that  enabled  Beresford  to 
take  pleasure  in  a  friend,  his  dogs  and  his  gun,  whilst 
Reynolds  sat  dreary-hearted,  wretched,  unconsolable, 
with  folded  hands  and  bowed  head,  alone  by  the  river  ? 
This  set  of  questions  may  not  be  solved  by  any  artistic 
analysis.  The  solution  is  in  the  bold  impression  of 
the  facts  caught  at  a  glance  by  every  one  who  has  any 
considerable  reach  of  human  sympathy. 

When  at  last  Reynolds  grew  calm  enough  to  exam- 
ine the  situation  somewhat  in  the  light  of  cold  reason, 
he  saw  that  Agnes,  not  himself,  must  bear  the  heaviest 
load  of  any  one  connected  therewith.  He  knew  that 


256  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

she  loved  him  and  that,  loving  him,  she  would  devote 
the  rest  of  her  life  to  one  whom  she  could  not  love, 
but  to  whom  the  laws  of  man  and  of  duty,  and  every 
dictate  of  a  pure  conscience,  bound  her.  Viewing  it 
thus,  his  life  seemed  to  end  in  a  cul-de-sac.  It  had 
been  a  barren  life,  for  the  most  part,  so  far,  even  worse 
than  barren ;  it  had  been  evil  in  no  small  degree. 
Conscience  leaped  upon  him  and  shook  him  as  a  wild 
beast  shakes  and  worries  its  prey.  He  felt  its  fangs 
and  welcomed  the  agony  they  inflicted,  as  a  relief  from 
the  terrible  numbness  that  had  taken  possession  of  him 
and  beside  which  any  pain  was  pleasure. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  he  went  back  to  the  station 
and  entered  the  little  waiting-room,  where  Dan  had 
deposited  his  traveling-bag,  and  sat  down  on  a  bench 
to  wait  for  the  train.  Several  persons  were  there, 
impatient  to  be  going,  as  travelers  by  rail  usually  are, 
but  Reynolds  was  not  in  sympathy  with  their  mood. 
He  felt  no  concern  about  the  train,  whether  ten  min- 
utes or  ten  hours  late.  Why  should  he  not  be  just  as 
content  while  waiting  for  a  train  as  while  doing  any 
thing  else  ?  What  more  interest  was  it  to  him  to  be 
going  than  it  was  to  be  staying  ?  The  thought  of  the 
cabin  and  its  household,  of  White's  oddities  and 
humorous  absurdities,  and  of  Milly's  faithful  patience 
and  plebeian  sweetness  and  sincerity,  did  not  draw  him  : 
in  fact  it  repelled  him.  Why  go  back  there  at  all  ? 
Why  not  go  to  England  and  join  Moreton,  or  to  Egypt 


WHITHER?  257 

and  engage  with  Doctor  Blank  (another  friend  of  his) 
in  his  scientific  explorations?  Then  again  came  con- 
science, with  waving  mane  and  flaming  eyes,  roaring 
and  baring  its  fangs.  He  could  see  no  promise  of  escape 
from  the  torment.  But  why  should  he  struggle  ?  He 
got  up  and  walked  to  and  fro,  as  did  the  other  restless 
waiters  for  the  train.  Strange  what  tricks  the  brain 
plays  under  every  sort  of  strain  and  torture.  The 
turmoil  of  his  thoughts,  like  some  tempest-tumbled  sea, 
kept  tossing  lightly  on  its  surface  as  the  sea  might  have 
tossed  a  cork,  those  simple  rhymes  about 

"  The  light  of  her  eyes 
And  the  dew  of  her  lips, 
Where  the  moth  never  flies 
And  the  bee  never  sips." 

He  could  not  help  it,  any  more  than  he  could  calm  the 
awful  underswell  of  despair.  He  was  far  from  feeling 
any  presence  of  good  in  all  this  agony.  No  sense  of 
a  coming  purification,  as  a  result  of  the  heat  to  which 
his  soul  was  subjected.  That  his  nature  was  giving 
way  before  the  intense  'blast  of  the  furnace,  he  may 
have  known,  but  he  had  no  thought  of  any  separation 
of  the  little  gold  of  good  from  the  mass  of  evil.  How 
could  he  ever  again  think  of  trying  to  do  good?  What 
a  life  of  heavenly  happiness  he  had  just  missed  !  He 
clung  desperately  to  the  sensuous  picture  his  memory 
kept  before  him,  reveling  in  the  torture  it  generated. 


258  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

No  thought  of  the  future  entered  his  mind,  unless 
the  form  of  poor  little  Milly,  which  now  and  again 
appeared  to  him,  might  be  called  a  thought.  From 
the  outlines  of  her  supple  figure  and  haunting  face  he 
shrank  with  an  inward  shudder.  Then  suddenly,  by 
some  obscure  cerebral  operation,  a  glimpse,  momentary 
but  thrillingly  sharp  and  clear,  disclosed  to  him  that 
other  extreme  of  his  situation.  What  a  vast  arc 
between  the  two  confines  of  oscillation  !  Agnes  Ran- 
som, Milly  White  !  Now,  at  last,  he  felt  himself 
shriveling  and  wasting  in  the  fire,  as  the  blast  from  the 
tuyeres  of  God's  furnace  was  doubled  and  trebled. 
He  began  to  imagine  how  it  all  was  to  end,  while  some 
strange,  thrilling  whisper  suggested  the  outlines  of 
duty.  Duty !  what  did  he  care  for  duty  !  Why 
should  he,  whose  sweetest  hopes  had  been  dissipated 
by  this  breath  of  providence,  have  any  care  for  the 
happiness  of  others  ?  But  his  rebellion  was  weak.  He 
arose,  as  the  cars  came  crashing  up  to  the  station,  and 
prepared  himself  for  he  knew  not  what.  Almost  any 
thing  would  be  welcome.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
place  for  him  save  the  barren,  dreary  cabin  in  the 
mountains.  As  he  realized  this,  once  more  his  old 
arrogant  nature  flared  up.  "  I  will  not  go  there,"  he 
thought,  and  his  cheeks  flushed.  "  I  will  not  be  the 
dupe  of  circumstance.  I  will  go  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth  first."  Nevertheless,  he  went  aboard  the  train 
and  took  his  seat  in  a  car  which  was  well  filled  with 


WHITHER?  259 

happy  tourists  returning  to  their  Northern  homes. 
The  first  person  upon  whom  his  eyes  chanced  to  fall 
was  Miss  Crabb.  She  was  busy  with  her  note-book 
and  pencil,  her  chin  drawn  down  and  her  brow  con 
tracted  with  intense  thought.  He  shrank  from  her,  as 
from  something  unbearable,  and  forthwith  slipped 
away  into  another  car. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

AFTER    ALL. 

WHITE'S  cabin  was  better  than  the  average  Sand- 
Mountain  house,  but  its  surroundings  were  not 
so  inviting  as  those  where  considerable  farms,  with 
orchards  and  garden  plats,  gave  an  air  of  frugal  thrift, 
almost  of  comfort  to  the  scene,  at  some  points  in  the 
lower  valleys.  It  was  built  of  pine  logs,  split  into 
halves,  the  flat  side  turned  in,  and  the  apertures 
between  covered  with  long  clap-boards  of  pine,  rove 
with  the  grain,  and  smoothed  with  a  drawing-knife. 
The  chimneys,  which  were  spacious,  consisted  of  pens 
of  split  sticks,  built  from  the  ground  to  a  little  above 
the  roof,  and  heavily  daubed  with  red  clay.  An  arid 
little  clearing  whose  stumpy,  rain-washed  fields  lay  as 
if  on  edge,  leaning  against  the  mountain-side,  showed 
that  a  light  crop  of  tobacco  or  a  doubtful  yield  of 
maize  "  nubbins"  would  be  the  best  return  that  labor 
might  hope  for  from  the  soilless  clay  and  the  dry, 
lifeless  monotony  of  the  mountain  summers.  This 
clearing  was  all  on  one  side  of  the  cabin,  reaching  down 
toward  the  little  valley,  whilst  on  the  other  three  sides 
the  forest  was  unbroken,  saving  that,  further  up  the 


AFTER  ALL.  261 

mountain,  wind  and  fire  had  done  their  work  for  ages. 
The  fences  about  the  place  were  old  and  neglected, 
grown  over  by  vines  and  shrubs  of  various  kinds,  and 
the  little  gate  in  front,  made  of  wattled  boards,  hung 
askew  on  rude  hinges  of  hickory  withes.     Just  outside 
of  this  gate,  between  it  and  the  road,  was  a  small  space 
which  for  many  years,  ever  since  the  cabin  was  built, 
in  fact,  had  been  used  for  piling  up,  cutting  and  split- 
ting the  wood  and  pine  knots  used  by  the  household, 
and    upon    which  a  moldy  mass  of  chips,  bark  and 
woody  fragments  had  slowly  accumulated.     All   the 
native  trees  near  the  cabin  had  long  ago  been  felled,  and 
a  few  gnarled  peach  trees  now  grew  in  their  stead. 
Standing  on  the  rotten  door-sill  and  looking  out  across 
the  lower  valley,  one  could  have  a  fine  view,  over  ill- 
shaped  farm-plats  and  variegated  woods,  of  the  broken 
masses  of  mountains,  near  and  far,  with  their  beetling 
cliffs,  their  clustered  foot-hills  and   their  bare  stony 
peaks,  all  over-canopied  with  a  serene  blue  sky.     But 
the  scene  was  not  one  to  inspire  the  beholder  with  any 
broad  ideas  of  nature  or  of  human  life.     It  was  a  dry, 
cramped,  desolate   landscape,  even  in  the  first  fresh 
colors  of  spring,  when  the  tassels  were  on  the  trees  and 
the  wild  flowers  fairly  carpeted  the  ground,  for  it  lacked 
fertility,  suggestion,  promise. 

Here  Milly  White  had  been  born  and  here  she  had 
lived  to  grow  from  babyhood  to  womanhood,  a  wild 
growth,  like  that  of  the  native  trees,  plants  and  birds. 


262  AT  LOVE 'S  EXTREMES. 

Physically  she  was  beautiful  to  look  upon,  if  in  looking 
one  could  separate  the  physical  from  the  other  form  of 
human  beauty;  but  she  was  strictly  a  product  of  Sand 
Mountain,  the  last  refinement  of  its  productive  forces, 
no  doubt,  approaching  as  near  the  perfect  as  nature, 
working  within  such  limitations  and  under  such  hope- 
less restrictions,  could  get.  It  would  be  impossible  to 
give  in  words  any  fair  idea  of  her  beauty  or  of  her 
ignorance;  to  attempt  either  would  appear  like 
exaggeration.  The  painter  would  succeed  no  better, 
for  his  representation  could  reach  no  further  than 
pathetic  caricature.  Her  life,  her  condition  and  her 
surroundings  composed  an  instance  not  far  out  of  the 
common  in  Sand  Mountain  existence.  Her  beauty,  it 
is  true,  was  exceptional,  as  beauty  is  in  all  cases,  her 
ignorance  was  somewhat  denser  than  the  average,  and 
her  experience  on  Reynolds'  account,  had  compassed 
its  utmost  possibility  of  disturbing  force.  In  so  far  as 
her  vision  could  go,  she  peered  into  the  paradise 
coveted  by  all  girls,  and  dreamed  the  dreams  of  unself- 
ish love.  Every  evening  she  went  down  to  the  little 
gate  and  leaned  upon  it,  watching  long  and  patiently 
for  the  coming  of  a  man,  as  other  women  do,  and 
every  morning  she  renewed  the  vigil  for  a  time,  and 
the  evening  and  the  morning  were  a  day.  She  had  but 
a  vague  understanding  of  things  too  vaguely  under- 
stood by  all  girls,  and  she  made  of  Reynolds  no  more 
a  god  than  most  young  women  do  of  the  men  they 


AFTER  ALL.  263 

love.  She  could  not  realize  her  danger  and  she  felt 
but  indefinitely  how  much  she  was  risking.  As  days 
and  weeks  dragged  by  and  John  did  not  come,  she 
showed  signs  of  nervous  restlessness ;  but  she  said 
little.  Her  health,  instead  of  failing,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  seemed  to  improve.  Her  face  filled 
out  to  full  womanly  proportions,  her  cheeks  gathering 
rich  tints  of  rose  and  carmine,  her  eyes  softening  and 
dilating  as  if  with  the  wonder  of  some  sweet,  strange 
discovery.  She  hovered,  as  a  butterfly  about  a  flower, 
over  the  things  in  Reynolds'  room.  For  hours  she  would 
sit  before  the  sketch  on  the  easel  and  gaze  dreamily, 
half  forlornly  at  it.  She  arranged  and  re-arranged  the 
books,  the  chairs,  the  little  worn  foot-stool,  the  slippers, 
the  dressing-gown,  creeping  about  as  noiselessly  as  if 
she  feared  the  least  sound  might  break  her  reverie. 
She  was  lonely,  despondent  and  nervous  at  times,  but 
she  did  not  complain.  White  exhausted  over  and  over 
again  his  stock  of  ingenuity  in  inventing  excuses  for 
"thet  ther  Colonel,"  who,  he  insisted,  was  "a  hevin'  of 
sech  a  roarin'  ole  time,  a  shootin'  of  birds  an'  a 
drinkm'  of  liquor  an'  a  playin'  of  them  ther  new- 
fangled games  of  keerds."  White  himself  had  grown 
strangely  uneasy  in  his  manner  and  his  eyes  had  lost 
somcv/hat  of  their  humorous  light.  It  was  beginning 
to  confirm  itself  in  his  mind  that  his  idol  had  clay  feet. 
He  gave  up  his  confidence  in  Reynolds  inch  by  inch, 
so  to  speak,  clinging  to  it  with  the  dogged  stubborn- 
ness of  his  narrow  nature. 


264  AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES. 

Spring  fell  upon  the  mountains  some  weeks  earlier 
than  usual.  The  old  peach-trees  were  loaded  with  pale 
pink  bloom  and  along  the  ragged  ravines  a  tender 
green  ran  in  waving  veins.  Day  after  day  was  cloud- 
less and  warm,  followed  by  nights  of  such  starry  splen- 
dor as  are  seen  nowhere  save  in  the  Southern  mountain 
regions. 

One  evening  Milly  was  at  the  gate,  as  usual,  leaning 
over  its  uneven  slats,  gazing  down  the  stony  road. 
Her  father  came  out  of  the  cabin,  bare-headed,  pipe  in 
mouth,  with  his  hands  thrust  into  his  trowsers  pockets. 

"Think  he  air  a  comin'  to-night,  do  ye,  Milly?"  he 
asked,  standing  near  her  and  looking  aimlessly  about. 
"  I  shedn't  be  s'prised  ef  he'd  drop  along  one  of  these 
yer  days  purty  soon.  Hit  air  a  gittin'  most  time  for 
the  bird-shootin'  ter  stop,  anyhow." 

"  I  dremp  las'  night  'at  he  wer'  dead,  an'  'at's  a  sign, 
ye  know,  "  she  answered,  without  looking  up.  "  I  jes' 
know  'at  he  air  a  comin'  purty  soon." 

"  Ef  ye  do  see  'im  a  comin'  down  the  road  ther', 
Milly,  an'  ye've  a  min'  ter  jump  over  thet  gate  ther', 
w'y  I  shed  'vise  ye  ter  git  back  yer  a  leetle  an'  take  a 
runnin'  start  so's  to  be  shore  not  to  trip  er  nothin'." 
White  chuckled  dryly  at  the  end  of  his  speech,  -as  if 
enjoying  the  scene  it  suggested  ;  but  receiving  no  reply 
from  the  girl  his  fate  resumed  its  look  of  stolid  repose, 
albeit  his  eyes  wandered  restlessly  without  seeming 
to  see  any  thing. 


AFTER  ALL.  265 

The  sun  was  down,  an  hour  ago,  and  the  stillness  of 
night  had  fallen  on  the  wide,  rugged  landscape.  There 
was  scarcely  wind  enough  to  bear  away  the  light  jets 
of  tobacco  smoke  puffed  sharply  now  and  then  from 
the  man's  mouth. 

"  I  dremp  las'  night,  too,  'at  the  Colonel  he  wer' 
dead,  Milly,"  he  presently  said  ;  but  he  did  not  add 
that  he  dreamed  that  the  Colonel  had  been  killed,  and 
by  his  hand. 

"  I'm  jest  a  lookin'  for  'im  now,  an'  a  'spectin'  'im 
ever'  minute,"  she  replied,  her  voice  quavering  sweetly, 
her  limbs  trembling. 

White  swallowed,  as  if  something  hurt  his  throat, 
and  pressed  a  finger  vigorously  into  his  pipe.  The 
muscles  of  his  face  twitched  convulsively. 

"  Oh,  I  consider  'at  we'd  better  go  inter  the  house, 
Milly,"  he  urged,  "  for  hit  air  not  'tall  s'posible  'at  the 
Colonel  he  '11  come  to-night ;  but  he  air  comin'  shore 
ter-morrer,  that's  es  sarting  es  gun's  iron,  Milly." 

"  Lis'n,  pap,  I  yer  somethin'  like  he  wer'  a  walkin' 
up  the  road  this  yer  way  :  lis'n  ! "  She  shook  her  hand 
at  him  in  token  of  silence,  but  did  not  turn  her  head, 
leaning  far  over  the  gate. 

"  Hit  ain't  him,  Milly,  he'd  be  er  singin'  er  song,  ef 
hit  wer'  him.  Don't  ye  'member  how  he  used  ter 
warble  them  cur'us  chunes  when  he  wer'  a  comin'  ?  " 

"  Keep  still,  I  tell  ye,  pap,  for  I  know  'at  I  jest  do 
yer  'im  a  comin'  down  ther'." 


2 66  AT  LOVES  EXTREMES. 

"  Mebbe  ye  do,  s'pec  ye  do,"  said  White  with  a  shake 
of  his  head,  "  but  hit  air  ter-morrer  'at  ye  yer  'im  a 
comin'.  He  air  dead  shore  to  roll  in  ter-morrer.  Don't 
ye  fret,  he  air  a  comin'  'fore  long,  Milly." 

"  He  air  a  comin'  right  now :  oh  ! "  she  cried,  and 
flinging  open  the  gate,  she  slipped  through  like  a  bird 
and  ran  down  the  road. 

"I  knowed  'at  ye'd  come,  John,  oh,  John!  John!" 
White  heard  her  say,  her  voice  cutting  with  shrill 
sweetness  through  the  still  evening  air. 

He  went  through  the  gateway,  and,  stumbling  over 
the  wood-pile,  walked  rapidly  after  her.  Sure  enough, 
there  was  Reynolds  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  with 
Milly  clinging  to  him.  They  were  in  a  place  where  the 
strong  star-light  dimly  outlined  them.  White  stopped 
short  and  actually  reeled  like  a  drunken  man.  He 
went  no  nearer  to  them,  but  turned  and  staggered 
rather  than  walked  back  into  the  cabin. 

"  Hit  air  all  right,  mother,"  he  said  to  his  wife  as  he 
entered.  "  He  air  out  ther' — the  Colonel  air." 

She  looked  up  with  a  start,  for  his  voice  was  thick 
with  excitement. 

"  She — she — Milly  '11  be  all  right  now.  She  won't  go 
erstracted  now,  mother,"  he  added,  dropping  into  a 
chair  and  beginning  to  refill  his  pipe. 

THE  END. 


HAVE    YOU    READ 


The  NCAY  American  Novel 

TRAJAN. 

The   History   of  a   Sentimental    Young    Man, 

with   some   Episodes   in   the    Comedy   of 

many    Lives    Errors. 

By  HENRY   F.  KEENAN. 

The  story  is  of  international  interest.  The  scene  is  laid  in  Paris 
during  the  exciting  days  that  ushered  in  the  Commune,  and  while 
many  real  persons  figure  among  the  characters,  the  plot  hovers 
round  a  group  of  Americans,  thrown  together  by  the  vicissitudes 
of  the  hour. 


"  Among  the  new  novels  of  the  season, 
Mr.  Henry  F.  Keenan's  '  Trajan  '  must 
be  promptly  accorded  the  first  place." — 
New  York  Herald. 

"It  is  much  the  best  novel  that  has  ap- 
peared for  years  in  the  English  or  any 
other  language." — Phila.  Evening  Bid- 
let  in. 


"'Trajan'  is  a  classic,  a  real  gem 
plucked  from  the  mass  of  rubbish  with 
which  the  bookstores  are  crowded."  — 
Boston  Times. 

"  Every  careful  bibliographer  of  the 
20th  century  ought  to  mention  '  Trajan  ' 
as  a  novel  to  be  read  for  scenes  of  the 
igth  century  in  Paris  and  New  York." — 
Hartford  Post. 


E.  C.  Stedman  pronounces '"Trajan"  : 
"Graphic  and  spirited.  .  .  .  Which 
no  one  can  read  without  interest,  and 
which  renders  a  welcome  certain  for  the 
future  productions  of  its  author." 

Hjalmar  H.  Bpyesen  writes  :  "An 
exceptionally  brilliant  novel.  It  is  as 
clever  in  description  as  it  is  vigorous  in 
characterization." 


H.  H.  Furness,  the  famous  Shakes- 
pearean scholar,  says  :  "  I  like  *  Trajan,' 
first,  for  the  delightful  way  the  author 
has  given  the  very  atmosphere  of  that 
May  afternoon  in  Paris !  Its  sights  are 
in  my  eyes  ;  its  sounds  are  in  my  ears, 
and  its  very  smells  are  in  my  nostrils.  No 
picture  of  Meissonier's  can  be  more 
faithful." 


1  Vol.,  12mo.    65O  Pages.    Price,  $1.5O. 


CASSELL    &   COMPANY,   Limited, 

739  &  741  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 

FOR  SALE  BY  ALL  BOOKSELLERS. 


FOR  SUMMER  READING. 

RED     RYVINGTON. 

By  WILLIAM  WESTALL. 

Author  of"  LARRY  LOHENGRIN?*  "  THE  OLD  FACTORY,"  Etc.,  Etc. 
1  Vol.,  12mo.,  Cloth,  New  Style.     Price,  $1.00. 

There  is  more  of  incident  and  adventure  in  this  story  than  in 
many  a  volume  five  times  its  size.  The  first  chapter  opens  with 
an  adventure,  or  rather  a  series  of  adventures,  that  are  enough  to 
take  the  breath  away,  though  they  are  perfectly  natural  and  might 
well  have  happened  to  any  adventurous  young  man.  The  hero, 
Red  Ryvington,  saves  the  life  of  the  heroine  in  the  first  chapter 
almost  by  a  miracle.  The  early  scenes  of  this  romance  are  laid  in 
the  Alps.  There  is  much  shifting  after  that,  which  lends  variety 
and  color  to  the  story. 

Mr.  Westall  is  a  new  author  to  American  readers,  but  once 
known,  they  will  want  to  continue  the  acquaintance,  for  he  is  a 
novelist  with  a  story  to  tell,  and  who  believes  in  plot,  and  plenty 
of  it. 

POVERTY    CORNER. 

("A  LITTLE  WORLD:') 

A   CITY   STORY, 

By  G.  MANVILLE  FENN, 

Author  of  "  The  Vicar's  People,"1    "  Sweet  Mace,"    "  My  Patients,"  Etc.,  Etc. 

1  VoL,  12mo.,  Cloth,  New  Style.     Price,  $1.00. 

There  are  touches  of  description  in  "  Poverty  Corner,"  as  well 
as  entire  characters,  which  the  author  of  "A  Christmas  Carol" 
need  not  have  been  ashamed  to  own  amongst  his  happiest  efforts  ; 
whilst  as  a  story  the  book  hardly  could  have  been  improved. 
There  is  plenty  of  incident,  and  that  of  the  most  exciting  nature, 
without  any  exaggeration  or  straining  after  effect ;  the  language  is 
pure  and  terse ;  the  descriptions  both  humorous  and  pathetic,  ex- 
tremely spontaneous,  and  the  several  characters  are  well  and  dis- 
tinctly drawn. 

FOR   SALE   BY    ALL    BOOKSELLERS. 

CASSELL   &    COMPANY,  Limited, 

739  &  741  BROAD\YAY,  NEW  YORK, 


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